Blind Revenge
by SilverWijida
Summary: Chapter 10 up now. It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice: she was fine, or at least she thought she was. GCR.
1. Perfect, Imperfect

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
Disclaimer: Not our players, just our playground.  
  
Archive: The Graveyard, all others please ask.  
  
Rated: A strong PG-13  
  
A/N: We'd like to thank Angie, who puts up with us sending her 30 pages of this story to beta at a time-and who also had the dubious honor of titling the fic.   
  
Summary: It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice: she was fine, or at least she thought she was...  
  
Chapter 1: Perfect, Imperfect  
  
There were long nights and there were lazy nights, and Catherine Willows easily found herself able to classify this particular night into the realm of long, although it had barely begun. Recent nights had all seemed too long and too harrowing for her liking, and the added burden of her father-depraved daughter seemed only to hinder her success in catching up on restful sleep. She began yet another shift after Eddie's death with a cup of coffee in the break room, greasy motor-oil swill skinning over in its Styrofoam prison as she stalled for time. Grissom had summoned the collective force of the Las Vegas Graveyard shift, with assignments to dole out as necessary, and she wanted her few precious moments to collect her thoughts before she would join them.  
  
Her co-workers, however, had other plans in mind. Filing in slowly, and chatting amongst each other, Nick, Sara, and Warrick took their respective seats, as Grissom remained standing, case file folders in hand.  
  
"Catherine, Nick... you're with me. Brass called me in just before shift -Businessman found in an alley behind the French Palace. The scene's been processed; Doc Robbins is prepping him for autopsy as we speak... This is our only case so Sara, Warrick, you two are on stand-by until something else comes in."  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes before rising from her chair, coffee in tow. It figures Grissom would put her on the only case to come in that night -just her luck.  
  
"Catherine- can I speak to you for a moment?" Grissom snagged her as she passed through the doorway, and she handed off the coffee cup to Nick, who picked up her subtle grimace, and disposed of the liquid. She followed the supervisor into an alcove branching off from the main hall, leaning against the wall, as he stood opposite.  
  
"What is it, Gil?" It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice, the irritation causing the skin around her eyes to tighten.   
  
"Are you all right with this?" It was unlike him to be so personal, so close to any of his co-workers, even with the many years they'd been acquainted.  
  
"With what?"  
  
"Cath- you've just been through a traumatic experience, and you haven't used any leave yet. Don't you need time to sort through-"  
  
"I don't need any time to sort through anything, Gil. I'm fine, trust me." She brushed past him; heading in the direction Nick had gone, leaving him to watch her retreating back, forehead wrinkled with confusion.  
  
Once Catherine had turned the corner, and started heading for the morgue, she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding in. Pushing through the swinging metal doors, the smell of formaldehyde and lingering death assaulted her nose. Nick was already suited up, and taking his cue, she pulled on blue scrubs and latex gloves and waited for Grissom to make his entrance.   
  
He did arrive, ten minutes later, in scrubs, blue eyes peering intently over the thin, white fabric of his facemask. But they never met Catherine's gaze, instead gazing over the still form spread upon the autopsy table.   
  
"There's some sort of sticky stuff around the lips," Nick pointed out, as soon as their boss had snapped on the thin latex gloves. "Some sort of gelatinous residue... kinda like lubri..." He stopped, mid-sentence, cheeks flushing slightly at the suggestive word he'd been about to utter. "Reminds me of the stuff I used to use when I was greasing the wheels of my rollerblades."  
  
"If that stuff you used smelt like bananas and cream, then that'd be it, Nick." Catherine commented wryly, as she leaned close to the metal table, fingers toying with the edge of the corpses mouth. "There's that hint of banana...and considering this guy was found in the alley behind the French Palace...I think I know what we're looking at."  
  
"Dare I ask?" Grissom's query wasn't at all sarcastic, although Catherine's eyes flashed angrily as it registered, and she tipped her chin upward, changing her vantage point just enough to glare at him irritably   
  
"There's a policy at the club- a sort of 'behind the curtain' rule that most of the girls went by when they had a patron who requested a private dance. Private dances didn't always stay in the realm of 'dance', and as a rule, we were all issued Blue Banana Condoms every month. The best of the best- and the way our boss knew it was if he could smell banana on our breath when we left the room after the sessions."  
  
"You didn't-" Nick's face had become slightly more flushed, and Catherine eyed him with equal animosity as she'd displayed toward Grissom.   
  
"I'm not like that, Nick- I never have been." She gazed upon the face of the victim, whose eyes were closed, jaw relaxed in peaceful acceptance of death.  
  
"This man...there was oral sex shortly after the initial penetration and intercourse. Any residue from the condom transferred to the area around his mouth."  
  
"How do we know that no one else had this brand of...protection?"   
  
"They're special order- there's no way anyone outside the club staff could get one of these without the boss knowing about it. It's like stealing gold from Fort Knox- and to some of those girls, what these condoms protect is almost as precious as gold."   
  
"You're sure?" Grissom asked; uncertainty in his voice.  
  
Annoyed, Catherine replied, "No, I'm not sure. I'm positive. I may be out of that business, but I certainly haven't forgotten about it."  
  
"So..." Nick started, trailing off for a moment, as the wheels began turning in his head. "We've got a dead business man, with banana residue from a specially made condom, where does that leave us?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question already, but as he looked at the two elder CSI's glaring at each other with daggers in their eyes, he knew he needed something to break up the private war they were waging with each other.  
  
"With a reason to get a warrant for DNA samples from all the girls working at or around the time of our victims' death. The residue tells us that he was probably killed there as well, not dumped. The alley is our primary scene," Grissom replied, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"You had a reason to think it was anything but the primary crime scene? From what I saw of the crime scene photos it looked pretty cut and dry."  
  
"Some things can't be seen in photographs, Cath."  
  
"Ah, now therein lay the problem, eh Grissom?" Catherine was tired of being left out of the loop. She recalled days when Brass would call Grissom out and Grissom's first action would be to ask her to join him. Now he was processing scenes without her, and leaving her with only photos to boot. It took all her will not to walk out of the room at that moment and not look back.   
  
Instead, she dug her perfectly manicured fingernails into her palms until she could almost feel them bleed. She wouldn't give Gil Grissom the satisfaction of seeing her walk out of the room seething with anger. If he wanted a war, damnit, she'd give him one.  
  
"It's not my fault Brass gave me this case just before shift..."  
  
"No I guess it's not," she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes. "It's not your fault at all."  
  
"Catherine-"  
  
"You know, just...forget it." Her fingers began to unclench from her palms, one after another, and she felt the dull ache as the nails withdrew from her skin. The pain was small, but grew as she straightened each digit, and she glanced down at the palms as it beckoned her to do so.  
  
Blood streamed from five crescent-shaped indentations, each deep enough to allow the fluid to seep from her body and into the cool air of the morgue.  
  
"Shit!! Shit!" Her eyes widened, body moving backward and arms flailing as she reacted, backing into a cart of instruments. "No, Eddie...no, I don't want to shoot up again! Get the fuck away from me!"  
  
"Cath?" Confusion crept into Nick's voice, concern triggering him to reach forward and place a hand on her upper arm. "Cath, Eddie's not here- he's dead, remember?"  
  
"What the hell are you doing!?" She struck out, her aim true as Nick too fell back, Grissom's hands catching him before he hit the floor.  
  
"Man, what's wrong with her?"  
  
"I don't know, Nicky- I don't know." Grissom watched as Catherine headed out the door, scrubs fluttering to the ground as she pulled them off, mask joining them immediately after. "It's not like Catherine to react that way to blood."  
  
"Yeah, dude...that's not Cath at all." The younger CSI rubbed his shoulder wearily, the area where Cath's palm had struck him sore from impact.  
  
Grissom snapped off his latex gloves, and tossed them in the trashcan next to him. "I'll go see if I can talk to her."  
  
"You sure you want to do that, boss? I mean, she wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with you tonight."  
  
"You want to go try and talk to her?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at Nick, noticing he was still rubbing his sore shoulder.  
  
"Yea...erm, okay, not really, but someone has too. I'm just saying maybe I should come with you. You know, in case she flips out on you again."  
  
"Fine, but just let me talk to her. If I have a problem, then you can help me. I don't want Cath to feel like we're ganging up on her."  
  
"Got it."  
  
So the two male CSI's removed their own scrubs, putting them in the bin marked 'used', and exited out the doors the fleeing Catherine had ran out of just a moment before. They checked the break room first, and found only Sara and Warrick joking around playfully as they finished their paperwork. Next was Grissom's office. Cath was known to go into his office on occasion, to think, or just to sit around where there was quiet. But she wasn't there either.  
  
Finally, the two of them made their way into the unisex locker room the five CSI's and Greg shared. At first Grissom didn't think anyone was there. He entered, Nick trailing close behind him, and flipped the lights on. They walked the perimeter and found no signs of her. It was only when they entered the connecting bathroom that they began to hear her muffled sobbing coming from one of the stalls at the far end.   
  
Walking towards it, Grissom peaked underneath and saw the heels of Catherine's black boots. Next, he tested the door, and found that in her haste she'd forgotten to lock it.  
  
What he saw next, as he opened the door, however, was enough to make him want to take her in his arms and never let her go.  
  
Catherine was sitting on the ground cross-legged, rocking, her head knocking the side of the stall ever-so-slightly with each backward motion. Blood ran from her hands onto the floor, forming small pools on the stark white tile. And it was now he saw the long scratches, up and down the length of her arms; a few fresh, a few ever so slightly faded. It appeared this wasn't the first episode she'd had; only the first one that anyone had been witness too.  
  
"Eddie...stay away...stay away from me. Don't hit me; don't make me do this again." He could hear her mumble to herself as she rocked. With each passing breath, Grissom's fear was multiplying within him.  
  
"Catherine..." He spoke gently, and her face tilted upward, revealing sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks, her desperation clear as her lips continued to move rapidly. The continued mantra, always wrapping around the same subject, the same old song.   
  
"Catherine...Are you all right?"  
  
"I can't...Grissom...I can't do this without..." Eddieˆ. His mind filled in the blank, although his mouth remained closed. She was in pain, a deeper pain than he had noticed in the days gone by, and he silently berated himself for not having taken note of it sooner. How could he have not seen the pain his friend endured? Her breakdown was as much his fault as it was that of Eddie's killer...and he couldn't bear to see it drawn out.  
  
"Nick- get my rolodex- there should be a number for a Doctor Paloalta. Give her a call- tell her we need a refill on Cath's medication." It was the only explanation he could think of- the antidepressants Catherine had been put on, due to recent events. And even his awareness of them was limited- a chance meeting in the pharmaceutical section of CVS had revealed the fact before Catherine herself had been ready to reveal it. The contents of her red plastic basket had spoke volumes; an envelope reading 'Anti-depressant medication' perched upon a box of Tampax and a 2-pound bag of Peanut M&M's.  
  
When Nick had left, Grissom moved closer to the shuddering Catherine, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and taking one of her hands to enfold it within the cotton fabric.   
  
"Here, Cath...come here." Her head fell upon his chest, the sound of his heart beating muffled beneath the forest green polo shirt he'd worn that evening. It was a soothing comfort, and she began to cease in her ramblings, her incoherent mutterings that he had no longer attempted to decipher.  
  
She seemed so...shattered, so unlike her normal self. Somehow, his comfort didn't seem like it was enough to ease the pain she was feeling. The Catherine he knew was strong, independent. She'd survived so much, that it baffled him. Hell, he'd only seen her cry once.  
  
When Nick returned an hour later, he held the prescription in his hand, having taken the initiative to drive to the drugstore himself. Grissom held her head while she drank from a glass of water, massaging her tightly clenched throat with his fingers until she swallowed the pill and could offer him a weak nod.   
  
"I'm all right..." He held the water glass to her lips as she took a swallow, and her eyelids closed briefly.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Prozac- I know you're on medication, Catherine...and it's going to be okay." As she climbed to her feet, shakily wrapping her arm around his neck for support, Grissom eyed the bottle of medication in his hand and shook his head wearily. Getting Catherine home was his first priority...and to figure out what was going on was certainly the close second.   
  
"I'm fine Gris. Really I'm okay now." Catherine felt her body stead itself, the wobbliness in her knees ceasing and her hands becoming less shaky.  
  
"You're going home. I'm taking you home. You aren't in any shape to drive yourself." He protested, coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Gris, I'm fine. I can drive myself home, if I wanted to go home, which I don't. " Catherine wasn't going to give up without a fight. It wasn't even that she didn't want to leave -she longed for a night of restful sleep. But there was no way Gil Grissom, or anyone else for that matter, was going to make that decision for her.  
  
TBC. 


	2. The Struggle

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
A/N: And as promised week 2, chapter 2. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews of chapter one.  
  
Chapter 2: The Struggle  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
She did finally return home, after hours of pushing paper, to Grissom insistence. He'd been loathe to allow her back into the crime scenes for the evening, sending her to his office to complete paperwork which she was much more well versed to complete than he.  
  
They'd come to that agreement once, that she would complete evaluations while he struggled with the inter-office traffic, battling Ecklie's constant interference, making visits to the morgue to check on the status of Al Robbins. Catherine knew about the cappuccino maker, though she never let on, at least allowing Grissom his one indiscretion among the perfect record.  
  
When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was nearly deafening, and though she knew where Lindsey was- at her sister's- the silence still filled her with a terror she'd thought she'd banished long ago. The losses she'd already faced were so much to bear, and every second Lindsey was away reminded her of how she would feel were she really gone...had Eddie gotten custody, had her little girl been swept away in the waters that claimed the body of her ex-husband...  
  
"Goddamit, Eddie." She reached into her purse and pulled out the orange bottle containing her pills, putting one onto her tongue and swallowed it dry, the tiny pill sliding easily down her throat. They were used more often now, although Grissom hadn't known that when he'd had the prescription refilled. He hadn't known that she'd already gone through a bottle and a half- that the only reason she was out of them was because Lindsey had accidentally knocked the open bottle down the drain of the bathroom sink.   
  
For a moment afterwards, Catherine felt better. As if that tiny little pill worked magic on her soul, allowing some of the burden to lift off of her shoulders. Throwing her purse on top of the end table, she flopped onto her ivory colored sofa, letting her body sink into its plush cushions.  
  
Closing her eyes, she tried to let the fatigue of the last few days wash over her body, in hopes that for once she'd be able to get a decent night sleep. But no matter how she tried, images of Eddie plague her thoughts.  
  
He'd always massage her feet when she'd get home, lustful and yet so appreciative, knowing what his wife went through. He'd been a patron- he'd seen the hips undulating, the legs wrapping around the strangely hot metal poles, the feet strapped into four-inch heels. The nightly massages were one of a few things she'd missed after the divorce, and while the pills didn't replace the feel of tender ministrations, they did replace the cozy presence of his hands by giving her a tender warmth as they accompanied her drink down her throat.  
  
Idly she wondered what it would have been like if they had tried to work it out-for Lindsey; if they could have ever been a real family again. Catherine certainly hadn't given him the chance to redeem himself after she found out he was cheating on her, though she was sure she'd given him enough second and third chances throughout the rest of their marriage. When she'd handed him those papers, she didn't think he deserved another chance. Now she wasn't so sure.  
  
"You did have to die, didn't you? You just never made anything easy." She spoke to no one, but her eyes turned to the photograph of Lindsey and Eddie on the first day of school, the child perched on the supportive shoulders of Eddie at his finest- as a dad. One hell of a shitty spouse, but when it had come to fatherhood, he'd been better than Catherine would have imagined.  
  
The bottle was at her fingertips, and she toyed with it as her eyes met his photographic representations, fatigue and prescription drugs drawing her into a state of wishful thinking, and she spoke to him again. "You should have been here."  
  
  
  
"I know." He sat beside her on the sofa, and she could feel the cushions sag under his weight. "Cath- I had to work late."  
  
  
  
"You always have to work late- I know you, Eddie. Fucking those whores in the back of the club- you never were a good liar." The anger was there, her face hot with the truth, seeking it in his eyes and seeing it as clear as day. "You bastard- bringing them home when I wasn't here..."  
  
"Don't you fucking call me that, Catherine." He grabbed at her, and she pulled away, sinking back against the cushions behind her, glaring at him fiercely. "Don't you fucking call me-"  
  
  
  
"A bastard? A lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch?" The tears were hot; too, but strangely cool as they trailed down her face, dripping onto her jeans. "Fuck you, Eddie Willows- get out of my sight!"   
  
  
  
"Cath-"  
  
  
  
She slapped him, the sound and the feel of her palm against flesh so real, so painfully real...and she felt so caught up in the anguish, blinking back tears to see through them, and into the eyes of someone...  
  
  
  
Who wasn't Eddie.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In seconds, his hands were around her wrists, his eyes locked with hers. The spot where she had slapped was already bright red, the outer edges slowing turning into rather nasty black and blue bruise.  
  
"Cath, calm down. It's just me. Grissom." He felt her body start shaking for the second time that evening; her skin pale and her features distraught. He'd come in only moments before to find Catherine pacing around her living like some caged animal. When she spotted him, she'd launched a verbal assault on him that he'd barely been able to make out. Next thing he knew, her hand had connected with his jaw-now he knew why nobody ever messed with her during her dancing days. She really packed a punch when she wanted too. "It's okay Cath...just calm down for a second."  
  
A flash of recognition traveled over her face, dancing in her eyes for just a moment before he felt her body tense up again. It caught him off guard, and in one swift, jerking motion, she was free from his grasp.  
  
"Don't tell me to calm down! I'll calm down when I'm damn good and ready!"  
  
"Cath, you're not being rational." He stepped back to allay her fears, and yet she didn't calm, spinning with a dancer's grace to flee into the kitchen, and he followed.  
  
  
  
"Eddie used to tell me that. 'You're not being rational, Catherine', every time I'd pack up his things and leave them on the sidewalk. 'Be rational, Cath.', every time I'd accuse him of taking out one of his music whores, and he'd deny it. Rationality is what got me into that mess, Grissom."  
  
  
  
"And vodka isn't going to get you out of it, Catherine." He watched her step onto a wooden footstool, rising onto her toes to feel behind cookbooks and canisters stacked above the refrigerator.  
  
"Says the man who supposedly knows everything." Catherine pulled out the vodka and stepped down once more. Crossing the kitchen, she grabbed a glass tumbler from the sideboard and filled it three quarters the way full. Opening the fridge and reaching into it, she pulled out the orange juice -opening it up and adding a splash to her drink, for color. "Gil, I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."  
  
"Obviously not, if you think vodka is going to make your problems just go away." He watched as Catherine downed her drink in two swallows, wincing as the liquid burned her throat.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Cath..."  
  
"Don't 'Cath' me, Gil. This is my goddamned house. Not yours. And I'll do as I please in it. So fuck you. I get enough flack everywhere else; I don't need it in my own house." Catherine poured herself a second drink, downing it with as equal speed as the first.  
  
"You're drunk." He stated.  
  
"And you're overdressed," she replied nonchalantly.   
  
Grissom raised his eyebrow in shock. "You just told me to fuck off, and now I'm overdressed?"  
  
"You said it yourself, I'm drunk." Raising a third glass in the air, she smiled, "and you look mighty handsome to me-in my inebriated state."  
  
Eyeing her, he decided to play along, an idea toying at the back of his mind. "Well, in my eyes, you're always beautiful, whether I'm drunk or not."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really."   
  
She moved closer to him, stumbling slightly- her drink sloshing out of the glass and onto the stark white kitchen tile floor. Collapsing into his arms, she giggled, blonde hair flying into her face. Wrapping her in his arms, he swept her up off of her feet - and started carrying her towards the door.  
  
"Gonna carry me over the threshold?"  
  
"I want to show you something."  
  
"Outside?"  
  
"Yes, Catherine, outside."  
  
"You don't need to carry me out there, then. I can walk myself." Catherine squirmed in Gil's grasp, trying to get free of his hold. "Gil, let me go."  
  
"If I set you down, you'll fall over. You can barely walk. Just let me carry you."  
  
"Let me go!" she continued squirming, scratching Gil's arms, hitting him -anything to get him to let her go. "Where the hell are you taking me!?"  
  
"To the hospital, Cath you need some help. Help that I can't give you."  
  
"I don't need help...from you, or anyone else!"  
  
"Cath, stop fighting me! Please!" At that moment, Catherine broke free, if only for a moment, and Gil scrambled to get a hold of her. But as the two tussled in Catherine's front hall, and Gil was getting the upper hand, he heard a sickening crunch.  
  
TBC. 


	3. Searching For Answers

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
Chapter 3: Searching for Answers  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When Catherine awoke next, it was to bright lights and the sterile smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. A Hospital. Moving her hands around, she found that her arms were pinned quite securely to the bed.   
  
Restraints. Perfect.  
  
"Hospital my ass," she mumbled to herself. "More like prison."  
  
"Mrs. Willows." She turned her head toward the door, wincing as the pain in her temple was aggravated by the action. A nurse bustled through the open doorway, spotless white shoes squeaking loudly upon the tiles of achingly shiny white linoleum. "How are you feeling?"  
  
  
  
"I've got a headache." Catherine didn't bother to correct the assumption of 'Mrs'. If she /was/ crazy, then part of her believed she was still married, still in love with Eddie...and maybe she owed his memory that much.  
  
  
  
"It's no wonder." Stella, as the nametag pinned to starched white linen read, held a packet of pills to her lips, chasing them down with a paper cup of bitter tasting water. Even the liquid smelt medicated as she gulped it down; although she was sure it was only her state of mind that made her think so. "Your husband tells me he was trying to get you to the hospital- and you were putting up quite the fight. Hit your head on the doorframe on the way out, it seems. Quite a bump."  
  
  
  
"That explains it." She wanted to reach up and probe the offending wound with her fingers, but her wrist was brought to a halt by the restraints, and her eyes narrowed. "But it doesn't explain why I'm being tied down."  
  
  
  
"Doctor Gray's orders. He'd rather you stay put until the risk of concussion is lessened." Stella fiddled with a window blind, revealing the afternoon Vegas sunlight, and remained at the window for a moment. "Beautiful day. Your husband said he was taking a walk around the grounds...but he'll be back before long."  
  
  
  
The second 'your husband', and Catherine shook her head to clear the charade from her ears.  
  
  
  
"He's not my husband- just a friend. Partner."  
  
  
  
"I see." The squeak of the shoes resumed, the nurse heading toward the exit. "Well, dinner isn't for another hour...but we'll see about getting those restraints loosened so you can hold the TV remote. Can't have you missing Letterman- I hear he's got Wilbur the Wonder dog on for half an hour tonight."  
  
  
  
And she was gone...leaving Catherine alone.  
  
Turning her head slowly, she gazed out the window. Sun shone through the small windows, bright yellow patterns marring the dingy white floor. Outside the trees swayed gently in the window. Nurse Stella was right; it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. For some anyway.  
  
'No sense in getting upset over it,' she thought to herself, as she went over the events of the last twenty-four hours. 'It's my head that's apparently screwed up. Can't say I didn't do it to myself.'  
  
"Cath."  
  
Her head snapping around, Catherine eyed the man in her doorway warily. "You put me here," she growled, her voice low and menacing. "You put me in this goddamned prison. You got your wish; do you have to keep on torturing me? If you're trying to ruin my life, you're doing a helluva good job of it."  
  
"You were falling over drunk, Cath. What was I supposed to do?  
  
"Ever hear of 'Coffee. Black.?'" She pushed her body up as far as it would go, straining against the canvas straps with the ferocity of a captured tiger. She felt like a specimen, a spot on the slide waiting to be dissected. "I'm not your fucking specimen, Gil. You tell me how you feel- not lock me to my bed and expect me to enjoy it."  
  
  
  
"I don't."  
  
  
  
"Of course you don't." The response was laced with the poison of sarcasm, her eyes darkening to the color of a storm-tossed sea. "Admit it- you might have, if you weren't so bent on proving that I'm crazy. If you wanted to run off with Sara...you just could have said the young ones are more your type and I might have gotten it. One hell of a way to get me out of your way, I have to say."  
  
"I don't want to run off with Sara, Cath. Why would you think that?"   
  
"Oh go ahead and just admit it already. You want to fuck her, you know you do." Catherine smirked, as if she'd scored some kind of victory.  
  
"Stop it, Cath."  
  
"What exactly am I stopping?"  
  
"This," he replied, the anger in his voice rising. "Stop this, it isn't you..."  
  
"And Sara isn't for you." She replied, nostrils flaring gently as her own voice rose further. "But she wants you- how much ecstasy do you need to throw her on the bed and fuck her like a rabbit?"  
  
  
  
"Catherine-"  
  
  
  
"Yes, I did heroin. Yes, I smoked dope; snorted...I did all of it, Grissom. Probably why I don't know what I'm saying now. Or maybe I do, and you just don't want to admit the truth."  
  
  
  
"I'm going to try and go with option c, neither. But you're making it fairly difficult."  
  
"So you do think I'm crazy? Or are you starting to really believe that you do have feelings for Sara -she's cute, in a tomboy kinda way, I guess. Hank had a good time with her."  
  
"Hank cheated on her," Grissom growled.  
  
"No..." Catherine drawled back, "Technically, he cheated on his girlfriend with Sara. You know, if you think about it, she really should take that as a compliment."  
  
"You're sick, Catherine." He had hoped the realization would hit like a splash of cold water once the words were released, and was disappointed when his claim registered nothing upon her beautiful face. "There is something wrong with you, and I promise we'll get to the bottom of it."   
  
  
  
"You want to know what's wrong with me?"  
  
  
  
"No." He turned, feeling a remnant of pain drive into his heart as he presented his back to her and spoke over his shoulder. "If it's that you want someone to 'fuck you like a rabbit', Catherine...then I'll be sure you get pumped with enough drugs to imagine that you are. But I'll let the doctors be the judge of that. As long as you get well...that's all I want to know."  
  
"You know, they think we're married Gil," She mentioned offhandedly. If Catherine could have crossed her arms across her chest in defiance, she would have right then. "A nurse came and mentioned that 'my husband was taking a walk'. Why do they think we're married?"  
  
"I brought you in. I know your personal information."  
  
"That's not it." She sighed, an almost pleading sound as he raised his foot and stepped forward. "She thought we were married because she thought the way you brought me in showed just how much you love me. No partner cradles his wounded partner in his arms the way you did me."  
  
"Cath...please-you were unconscious, it's not as if you could walk."  
  
"That's right; Sara's more up your alley."  
  
"Just let it go."  
  
"But if you really do want Sara...that leaves my question unanswered...you, me, a nurse thinking we're married...it's all very suspicious. You know, I heard somewhere you have to have immediate family check into one of these places..."  
  
"I'm your boss."  
  
"But not my husband. And in that case," Her thumb lay beside a crimson button and she pushed it with a fingernail, eyes rising slowly to meet his. "In that case, I think its better that you not be here, Mr. Grissom."   
  
  
  
As a nurse entered to check the situation, the corners of Catherine's mouth began to slowly turn upward, a sick representation of the beautiful smile he waited so often to see.   
  
  
  
"Nurse- I think this man has the wrong room. Could you please-?"  
  
"Sir, this way." There was a gentle tug, and Grissom felt himself being propelled toward the door, into the hallway, and his last glimpse was of her fingers rising gently in a wave.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure they'll help you find your wife. Tell them you're looking for Sara. They'll help you!"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Gil moved down the hallway with incredible speed. He had to know what the hell was going on. The Catherine he'd encountered in the last twenty-four hours was not the same woman he'd known for over fifteen years. Something wasn't right; he could hear the little voice in the back of his head telling him that. Over and over again.  
  
It haunted him as he drove, his subconscious leading him straight to Catherine's home. Opening the door with more ease than which he had closed it, hand lingering on the knob as he paused to inspect the slight trace of crimson blood and blonde hairs that remained on the doorframe. She'd been hurt in his attempt to help her, and his fingers lingered at the edge of the hairs, lips molding into a grimace as he thought of that moment.  
  
There had to be something here that would help him figure out what was going on. Looking around, he paused as he spotted Cath's meds sitting on the table. 'She probably hasn't been taking them,' he mused, picking up the bottle and inspecting it.  
  
Half empty.  
  
Or maybe she was.  
  
He headed for the bathroom under a whim, stepping over abandoned sweatpants and a copy of Vogue at the threshold. Reaching for the garbage can and he pulled it up onto the lid of the sweating ivory toilet. He felt like a fetishist, imagining what he would claim to Greg when he asked him to dust the fingerprints on any empty pill bottles. "Yes, Greg, I collect them."   
  
  
  
But it wasn't there. The evidence he had imagined wasn't there, and he held his breath as he rocked back on his heels and tried to think of where it might be, where Catherine might have hidden it in order to prevent any discovery on his part.  
  
Her room.  
  
If invading her bathroom hadn't been bad enough, now he was headed towards her bedroom. Entering the brightly lit room, he wondered if he really even knew Catherine. He'd always pictured something edgier, to match her sharp wit and personality. This was far from what he had expected.  
  
A bra slung over the armchair, punctuating black against the smooth, pea-green upholstery. One shoe, a black, sexy sandal, resting on the throw rug in front of her thirteen-inch television set, which stood on a table in the corner nearest her bathroom.  
  
  
  
The pills wouldn't be in here...he'd hoped not to find the empty bottles at all, and as easily as that thought swept over him, the realization of where they were hidden came just as easily.  
  
  
  
The hope chest....in the most sacred of places, Catherine would hide her most sacred of present secrets.  
  
Without hesitation, he hefted the thick, rosewood lid and dug through the first layer, fighting back a choking feeling that he was divulging into the very core of Catherine Willows. Her secrets, her past, her dreams and hopes were all sequestered within the confines of this large, polished chest, and anything he saw would forever be branded into his mind. He didn't know if he was ready for that, or for the burden of knowing what he'd done.  
  
  
  
But if it was life and death, he'd throw himself to the wolves for her. And to dive into her life...was only a fraction of what he would do to find his own hope. Digging down farther, he was surprised at the sheer amount of stuff enclosed in the box. Journal upon journal, napkins with phone numbers, pictures-some recent and some so old the edges were beginning to tear, and just as he reached the bottom-a medical syringe. A tool left from a life Cath had left long ago; one Grissom never cared to remember. The early days with Eddie; when heroine had been introduced to Catherine by one of Eddie's showbiz lackeys. Heroin, which had eventually lead to cocaine, and to many failed attempts to kick the habit on Catherine's part. Well, excluding her last one; which had been a success, and had consisted of her staying at his townhouse so he could watch over her while she fought off withdrawal.  
  
But now was not the time to dredge up old painful memories. He had other problems on his mind.  
  
"It's got to be here," he growled to himself, moving more things around in attempt to locate it.   
  
And there it was, the prize, in all its glory, his eyes barely catching it, shoved in the corner at the very bottom of the chest. She'd attempted to disguise it, wrapping the orange bottle in a scrap of tissue paper, with prints of grinning pumpkins and white-sheet ghosts. But the top was still visible, and the label remained, listing the contents and the date of the last refill. She'd had more than required, according to the recorded amount of refills allotted her, and he leaned back on his heels, musing at her ability to acquire more.  
  
Remembering protocol for a brief, fleeting moment, Gil left the object where it was. If he took it now-went with his hunch, he knew, it could be overturned as evidence obtained illegally.   
  
But that was only if his hunch was right, and he hoped to god that it was.  
  
The cell phone at his waist was vibrating, and his thoughts came to a standstill as he withdrew the object from his belt and flipped it open, raising it to his ear. "Grissom."  
  
  
  
"Mr. Grissom?" It was a crisp, professional voice which brought him momentarily back to his senses. "There's a complication with your wife- you're going to need to get here immediately."  
  
  
  
"What sort of complication?"  
  
  
  
"We're not certain, sir- but it would help a great deal if you could be here."  
  
Gil was up from his crouched position in front of the chest in seconds; running out the door with a speed he'd never had before in his forty-six years of life. The ominous call by the hospital did nothing to quell the suspicions that had been growing inside of him since the incident during shift. He had to get to her-had to figure out what was making her this way-who was making her this way.  
  
He arrived in her room within half an hour, waiting at the door until the nurse ushered him in, sitting beside the bed with a teddy bear and a package of dried banana chips, waiting for her to notice him.   
  
  
  
"You're back." He wasn't sure how she sounded, her head still turned toward the TV, where an old rerun of Ryan's Hope droned on, volume quelled. "I thought they kicked you out."  
  
  
  
"I'm not that easy to get rid of." He placed the bear at the edge of her bed and tucked the chips away into the bedside table. "Catherine...I've been to your house....and I need your permission to do something."  
  
  
  
"I'm not there- what good is the bed going to do you?"  
  
"Funny, very funny," a smirk appeared upon his features, the first all day. It seemed the old Cath had returned, at least for the moment. The anger, the coldness had left her features for the moment and been replaced by a pair of tired, pain filled, worried eyes. "I was wondering if I could have permission to look around your house -Cath, are you okay?"  
  
"My house? Why?" she eyed him skeptically, blowing a strand of sweat-soaked blonde hair out of her face.  
  
"I have a hunch, that's all. Now answer my question-are you okay?"  
  
"A hunch about what? And don't think that I believe you, for a second, you've probably already been there once, snooping...Gil you're not a man who runs on a hunch."  
  
"No, I'm not." He straightened the bear and cleared his throat. "But I'm not sure that what's wrong with you is natural, Catherine. If I run to a judge with this, they'll laugh in my face, so I'm asking you; can I check your house for evidence?"  
  
  
  
"The whole thing?"  
  
  
  
"Yes."   
  
She turned her head away from the soap opera and looked him squarely in the eye, hand seeking out the bear beside her, and she squeezed it tightly. "All right, Gil. If you need too-go ahead. Just don't leave it a mess, okay?"  
  
"Fine. Now are you going to answer my other question?"  
  
"Other question?" Catherine replied nonchalantly, pretending as if she didn't remember.  
  
"Don't play coy with me Cath. Are you okay? The doctors, they called me, why did they call me?"   
  
"They overreact, as doctors often do. Not to mention entomologists." She reached for the remote, within reach of her still-restrained hands, and notched the television volume up a bit, as the name Siobhan was heard, and Grissom had reached over to silence the box once again.   
  
  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Catherine?"  
  
  
  
"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" She would have attempted to move away, had her body been free, and Grissom took advantage of that, leaning closer to vent his frustration.   
  
"You're not helping yourself."  
  
  
  
"And I suppose not putting me back on my medication is helping me that much more?"  
  
"In my opinion, it is."  
  
"Oh really?"   
  
"Yes, really."  
  
"And when did you become the expert?" She cocked her head slightly sideways in expectance. He definitely wasn't squirming out of this one. "Who gave you the right to tell them to keep me off my meds?"  
  
Beads of sweat were forming upon her feverish brow, her chest heaving up and down in a rapid motion. Red-rimmed eyes stared at his, and when he looked into them, he couldn't tell if she was angry with him, or grateful.  
  
"You gave me that right the second you decided to go one step too far, Catherine." He couldn't hold it in anymore- couldn't keep the thoughts from seeping out of every crack in his facade. "You left your nine year old daughter to fend for herself, while you're lying here. She couldn't make the decision- no one will let her, and that makes me the most reasonable choice. Out of the two people who love you the most, Cath-- it had to be the one who could choose. It had to be me."  
  
"I don't want it to be you." She groaned; falling into the pillows the nurses had so expertly arranged behind her head. "I don't want it to be you..."  
  
  
  
"And I want to get to the bottom of this." He replied, tucking a hand into his pocket and withdrawing his cell. "And I'm going to do just that."  
  
"You're going to tell them, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Gil -please don't tell them."  
  
"I have too. You know that." Gil turned his attention back to his cellphone, "Nick, yea, it's Grissom, I need a favor. Yes I know it's the middle of the day but it's important. No-I'll tell you when you get here. And call the rest of the team for me; I need them too. Thanks Nick. Bye."  
  
TBC.  
  
A/N: In regards to some of the content...Just remember that Cath's hallucinating. She's bound to ramble off incoherently. 


	4. The Theory

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
A/N: Week 4, chapter 4. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapters. It actually makes me want to put these chapters out a little faster...sometimes.   
  
Chapter 4: The Theory  
  
++++++  
  
As quickly as the team assembled in Catherine's hospital room, Grissom tried his best to not give Warrick a dressing down for having driven too fast. He knew the young man had been the one at the wheel- Sara's wild-eyed expression and Nick's still-whitened knuckles spoke a louder testimony than the passengers could muster. The moment they were all sequestered within the room, their superior began, turning his body away from Catherine's fevered and desperate gaze.  
  
  
  
"Nick- I need you and Sara to go to Catherine's. Fine toothed comb- anything that even looks medical needs to be printed, bagged, and taken to trace immediately."  
  
"I guess, I'm going to be the one to spit it out -Grissom, what exactly is going on? What happened?" Sara asked, curious as she was, voicing the unspoken thoughts of the rest of the group.  
  
"Just go..."  
  
"But how are we going to know what to look for if we don't even know what's going on?"  
  
"Sara has a point," Warrick added, eyes gazing sympathetically over in Catherine's direction.   
  
"And I'm asking you to go on the faith that I know what I'm talking about," Grissom replied, and glanced pointedly at Warrick. "I need you to stay here- to gather any evidence that may come in."  
  
  
  
"From what? Grissom- come on, throw us a bone." Sara wouldn't leave it alone, and deep inside, Grissom couldn't blame her. "You want us to invade Catherine's space, dig through her entire life...for what?"  
  
"You'll be gathering your evidence from Catherine." Grissom's voice lowered as he spoke to Warrick, and released a heavy sigh. "You two are looking for medicine bottles- any trace of anything she might have taken to make her-"  
  
  
  
"Something to tell us why she's been wigging out on us?"   
  
"Something to tell us why she's not herself, Sara." Gesturing for Nick to usher his partner away, the elder CSI directed his attention to the bed that held his equal. "Warrick- her tox screen should be coming back shortly. I want you to take the results over to Greg...see what he can make of it. The second Sara and Nick come up with anything...I want you to compare them."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, will do."  
  
"Gil," Cath murmured, "I think I'm gonna be sick..." Searching around the room for a moment Gil found a small basin, and held it under Cath's chin with one hand while holding her hair back with the other.  
  
"Let it out Cath, just let it out."   
  
"Is she going to be okay?"  
  
"I think so, Warrick. Its just withdrawals, I think, from whatever she's been taking."  
  
"You know, I am still in the room, you two don't have to act like I don't exist." Catherine swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "Is there any water around? God my mouth is foul tasting."  
  
Gil grabbed a plastic cup and went to fill it up in the bathroom sink. He returned just moments later, extending the cup to her, almost as an offering of peace between the two of them.  
  
"Thanks." She smiled, her first genuine smile all day, letting Grissom put the glass to her lips and drinking deeply.  
  
"Gil, I've got things covered here, why don't you head on down to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee." Warrick walked over to his boss and took the basin in his hands, "I'm just waiting for those tox results, I don't have anything better to do, and I'm sure Cath could use a fresh face around here," he turned to Catherine and gave her a wink. "So go, get some coffee in you, you look haggard."  
  
"Thanks Warrick, I won't be long. Twenty minutes, tops."  
  
"Take all the time you need, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Gil left, leaving the two friends' time to catch up.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Warrick left at eight, kissing Catherine on the cheek with the affection of a worried friend, and heading for the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and to await the return of their 'leader'. Catherine was given medication to sleep- a mild dose of a sedative to which she responded easily, head sinking back into her pillow and eyes closing against the light spilling in through her open door from the hallway.  
  
Stuffing his hands in his pocket, Warrick wandered aimlessly through the cafeteria looking for a decent cup of coffee, grimacing as he realized he most likely would end up with something comparable to the break room swill back at CSI. 'It'll have to do', he thought, and within minutes he had a cup of the foul smelling brew in his hand.  
  
"Not much improved from what we're drinking at work, is it, Warrick?" Grissom slipped into the seat across from him, folding his hands on the reddish-orange tabletop and staring into his own steaming cup. "But for right now- we're going to have to get used to it."  
  
  
  
"Hey, Gris." The younger man spoke with urgency, meeting his boss's gaze as Grissom tore his eyes away from the greasy liquid. "What's the deal with Catherine?"  
  
  
  
"Legitimately?" Grissom frowned. "I think she's being poisoned, Warrick."  
  
  
  
"You think? There's no evidence? Boss- what happened to letting the evidence speak?"  
  
  
  
"The only evidence we have so far is Catherine," he replied, a distasteful expression spreading across his features.  
  
"That's not going to get us very far."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And that's why you sent Nick and Sara over to Cath's? Is there something there you want them to find?"  
  
"I'd like to be able to tell you that -but I can't. Not now."  
  
"Come on Gris-man, you can trust me."  
  
"I'll say this-just pray those tox results come back quickly."  
  
"Yeah, I will." Warrick's eyes became solemn, wizened as he considered the words. "Yeah, Gris...I will."  
  
"I hope so." One swig and the coffee was gone from Grissom's cup; his eyes fastened onto the dregs that lay at the bottom. Black, like Catherine's eyes when she wasn't 'right'...and he didn't fathom seeing her eyes like that.   
  
  
  
If Nick and Sara found something...then the tox screen would help, enough to prove his theory anyway.   
  
Or enough to keep Catherine alive.  
  
TBC. 


	5. Proof

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
A/N: If we haven't said before (I know it was mentioned on the graveshift list), this story is being posted a chapter a week. This is week five, so here's chapter five for you. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far.  
  
Chapter Five: Proof  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Nick, got anything?"  
  
Under the bed, In Catherine's home, produced nothing more than a crumpled sock and a can of mace, and Sara dutifully photographed them before turning to her partner, bent over a laundry hamper.   
  
  
  
"Nah- nothing yet." The Texas drawl was muffled as Nick thrust his head deeper into the abyss of the wicker basket, gloved hands digging further down into the chest. "Gris said to---"  
  
  
  
"What's that? Find something good in there?" Sara's eyes fastened on the bend of Nick's firm butt beneath tanned trousers, and her eyebrows lifted as his rear was thrust higher.   
  
"Any deeper in there- you might find something you don't want to find, Nick."  
  
"Just covering all the bases." He grinned, that grin that was almost always accompanied by a devilish sparkle in his eye.  
  
"I didn't know Catherine wore leopard print bikini underwear."  
  
"I didn't know Catherine was a men's size 12."  
  
"Cute Nick, I'm laughing on the inside, really I am," Sara snorted.  
  
"You think I'm joking?" He pointed to a pair of underwear that was clearly male. "Looks like Catherine's been getting around and not telling us."  
  
"Do you fuck and tell, Nick?"  
  
Nick eyed his partner warily, "Is there something a certain brunette CSI is hiding?"  
  
"No," she replied matter-of-factly, "but if there was, I certainly wouldn't run around telling everyone about it -if you catch my drift."  
  
"And here I thought you were cheating on me with some hot stud..."  
  
"I think I should be more worried about you -ladies man."   
  
"Can we get back to work now?"  
  
"Sure thing, Casanova" Sara grinned, and then moved over to place the bagged evidence in her hand next to her kit. They had bagged and tagged more than they normally would have, but then again this was not a normal case. Gil had said to leave no stone unturned, and so far, they hadn't. "Hey Nick, did you check that chest yet?" She laid eyes on the Hope Chest, unaware of what its contents might be.  
  
"Not yet-go knock yourself out."  
  
Sara made her way over the large rosewood chest, the gold hinges shining as the beam of her flashlight hit it. Kneeling before it and setting her flashlight down on the ground; Sara placed a latex glove clad hand upon the lid; tracing the intricate designs with her fingers. 'It's beautiful,' she thought to herself, and wondered if the treasures inside it were as lovely as the tomb that encased them.  
  
"Guess I'll just have to find out," she mumbled, opening the lid carefully. What she found, was a life she never knew Catherine had lived.  
  
"Hey Nick come take a look at this."  
  
"What is it?" He asked moving around the bed and coming to stand next to her.  
  
"Catherine's life."  
  
"Some people keep scrapbooks, photo albums -it looks like this was Cath's. Leave it to her to be unconventional."  
  
"Look at all this stuff...old phone numbers, notes, photos, movie ticket stubs, hospital bracelets -I never knew one person could accumulate so many things."  
  
"She kept everything," Nick sighed, "even the things that were unpleasant." Nick pointed to the medical equipment stuffed near the bottom.  
  
"Has she ever talked to you about that...that part of her life?"  
  
"No, never...Grissom knows though."  
  
"He does?" Sara's eyebrows arched upward in surprise.  
  
"You didn't know that? Gil met Cath...wow, in practically a completely different lifetime."  
  
"I knew he recruited her, but I didn't know he'd helped her..."  
  
"Close up her nose? He did. Our very own people-skills deficient Grissom."  
  
Eager to get off of the topic, Sara turned her attention to the Halloween paper wrapped pill bottle. Picking it up, she looked over the label-and was surprised to find such a recent date.  
  
"Prozac-prescription filled a few days ago."  
  
"A few days ago. But Gris and I just-" Nick's current expression was one of confusion, then disbelief as he held out a bag for Sara to place the bottle into. "I don't get it- Cath's been sneaking extra prescriptions?"  
  
  
  
"Looks that way. But no matter how much Prozac she's been taking...it shouldn't have been enough for her to go wiggy on us."  
  
  
  
"Wiggy?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, Nick- crazy. Our perfectly normal Catherine suddenly went crazy...and this is  
  
the answer." She sealed the bag with a sleek efficiency and tossed it into a nearby evidence kit. "We've got to get this to Greg- have him run a trace on the inside of the bottle. If there's anything left in there...maybe it'll tell us what's going on."  
  
"This is getting too weird. You really think that someone is poisoning her?"  
  
"Grissom does. Or at least that's what I got out of that speech aback at the hospital."  
  
"True, but a wise woman gave me some great advice once; she said 'Grissom's not always right, do yourself a favor, and think for yourself.' I think it's worked pretty well so far. I'm just trying to look at this from every angle."  
  
"Coined by Catherine herself, I'll bet."  
  
"The one and only."  
  
And with that, Nick turned, venturing into Catherine's bathroom, leaving the door hanging open in his wake.   
  
  
  
"Hey- I already checked in there," Sara called to his retreating back, but the intent, on-the-job Nick barely heard, leaning into the shower stall that was nestled into the north corner. "Nick!"  
  
  
  
"I know, I heard you." He withdrew, sheepishly, holding a pink-and-lavender bottle in one gloved hand. "I just had to know."  
  
  
  
"Had to know what?"  
  
  
  
"What kind of shampoo Catherine uses," He replied, and returned the bottle to the shelf, Sara catching only a brief mutter as she turned to exit the tiny room. "Ha, Greg- winner takes all."  
  
"And you can tell him that when we get back to the lab, now come on Nick we're supposed to be doing this quickly."  
  
"You sure know how to ruin a guy's fun, Sara," Nick smirked.   
  
All he got in return was a glare.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Twenty minutes later, the pair was back at CSI pacing idly around the DNA lab, waiting for the results on the medicine bottle. Only stopping every so often to glance at one another, or glare at the machine, which was taking far too long to spit out its results.  
  
"Will you two please just chill out; the thing's working as fast as it can go. Mentally smashing it into a thousand pieces isn't going to make it run any faster," Greg Sanders chided jokingly.  
  
"Well, Greggo- you hand over that hundred that you owe me, and I'll treat Sara to steak and eggs at Tut's Tomb. Otherwise, you hurry up with that evidence." Nick handed Sara a Styrofoam cup of the greasy office swill and grinned at the sickened expression that swiftly flittered across her face.   
  
  
  
"Steak and eggs..." Sara briefly recalled the moment in the past when Nick had promised such a thing, and smiled. "Speaking of steak, Nick- don't you owe me?"  
  
"What exactly do I owe you, Sara?" He asked waggling his eyebrows.  
  
"You remember the time you promised me you wouldn't forget that I was a vegetarian? We shook on it and everything...looks like I was right." Putting her hands on her hip, she continued, "So it looks like that hundred bucks goes to me. Unless..." her voice trailed off as she heard the beeping of the printer nearby.  
  
"Unless what?"  
  
"Unless you're willing to... drive," She finished, snatching the paper as the printer deposited a crisp sheet, rife with text describing something she hadn't expected.   
  
  
  
"What is it?"   
  
  
  
"What would you be if I were willing to sleep with you?"  
  
  
  
"That would be revolt--" Nick's words were halted by a sharp glare shot directly to his moving lips, and he smiled. "I give up, Sara."  
  
  
  
"Ecstasy, Nick. Cath's being poisoned, all right, with ecstasy."  
  
"We need to get back to Desert Palms. Now."  
  
Sara tossed him the keys. "You drive."  
  
"It is what I do best," Nick winked, grabbing his jacket and throwing it on as they headed out the door.  
  
"Now I know why you've always had a hard time getting past the first date with all your women-that fabulous sense of humor of yours."  
  
"Nah, they're just all slow to catch up." He tossed her a wink and snatched the paper from her fingers, moving out the door as Sara's head turned in Greg's direction. The young lab rat was still perched upon his stool, a jaunty grin on his face as he observed the conversation.   
  
  
  
"What is it, Greg? Phone-sex not covering those long, lonely nights?" And with that, she trailed after Nick, careful to ignore Greg's swift reply.  
  
  
  
"Better run, Sara- don't want to be slow to catch up!"  
  
And with that, the young lab tech. headed back to work.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"That the tox screen on Catherine Willows?" Warrick asked impatiently, not particularly happy with having had to wait for an hour for results that were supposed to be 'rushed'.  
  
"It is...though I'm still not exactly sure why you want it," the nurse replied, handing him the report.  
  
"And it'll probably stay that way." Warrick sat down in a chair outside of Catherine's room, and cautiously flipped through the report in front of him. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for; all he could hope was that he knew what it was when he saw it.  
  
And he did.  
  
"Ecstasy." He spoke in a hushed whisper, not keen on the idea of passers-by hearing the young black man sitting half-asleep with rumpled clothes and bags under his eyes, talking about common street drugs. Try as he might, he couldn't forget that stereotypes were alive and well, and living in Las Vegas. "What's Cath doing with ecstasy in her system, anyway?"  
  
  
  
"Probably not the backstroke." He looked up at the approaching footsteps and voice of Gil Grissom, who held up a sleek silver cell, looking grim. "Just got the call from Nick- there were copious amounts of ecstasy found in a pill bottle in Catherine's house."  
  
  
  
"In a pill bottle?"  
  
  
  
"With a label for Prozac. Filled two days ago." The boss looked increasingly grim as he glanced through Catherine's partially opened door.   
  
"She's still asleep?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, pretty much. Nurse said she's had to be upped on the sedatives- withdrawal symptoms getting pretty bad."  
  
"Man..." Warrick drawled off in thought. "How could something like this happen? Don't those prescriptions get checked, or anything?"  
  
"People don't have eyeballs in the backs of their heads, Warrick. They can't see everything."  
  
"You knew, didn't you? You knew all along. How?"  
  
"You get to know someone after so many years; and Catherine and I have known each other a lot of years. I've seen her break down-get angry, throw things at the wall, cry...I've seen her happy-face shining at her fortune. She's not weak, in any way. And I had a hard time believing she'd act that way now, after all these years of being strong. Catherine Willows doesn't know the meaning of the word."  
  
"So, now what?" It was Warrick's turn to glance at the open door again, and a moment of silence between the two men allowed him to catch a sound of movement inside. "Sounds like Cath's awake. Think we should tell her?"  
  
  
  
"Let me do it, Warrick. I need you to go to the pharmacy. See if you can get a list of who's been scheduled since Cath started getting her prescriptions."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, but Gris- how are we going to know when she started-"  
  
  
  
"Try in the week after Eddie's death...and work your way in from there." The older man moved forward, tucking his cell phone into his pocket as he stepped into the doorway. "Call the nurse's station if you get anything- I'll have my phone off."  
  
  
  
"Yeah."  
  
  
  
"And Warrick?" Warrick pivoted, having taken a step down the hallway, and met Grissom's eyes. "Get some sleep after that- Cath's going to need you at your best. I'll tell Nick and Sara the same thing, once they get here."  
  
"Sure boss."   
  
Grissom watched Warrick as he sauntered down the brightly lit hospital corridor, his eyes breaking their focus only after he saw Warrick leave the building. Turning around, he placed a hand on the door handle, careful as to not disturb Catherine as he walked into the room.  
  
The sight of her broke his heart.  
  
"Gil?"  
  
"Yea Cath, it's me."  
  
"If I were prone to believing...I'd have thought you were God, and you were surrounded by heavenly light." She cracked a grin, shifting in her bed as he sat beside it. "It's dark in here."  
  
  
  
"They didn't think the light was good for your eyes right now, Cath. You should sleep."  
  
  
  
"I have been, if you could call that sleep." Catherine averted her eyes for a moment. "So, what have you uncovered in the great conspiracy to take my life?"  
  
  
  
"We don't have much to go on, yet."   
  
  
  
"Don't give me the bullshit, Grissom. I heard Warrick...I know the drill. Drug tests...the nurse hasn't come in yet...and I know you've got the results. So spill it."  
  
  
  
"Your pills are being spiked with ecstasy, Catherine. Not enough to kill you- but combined with your regular medication, it's throwing you off balance."  
  
"Actually I felt quite in-balance, for awhile there..." Catherine trailed off; her hands balled into fists as she bit back the pain that was building at the back of her skull. Grissom, ever aware, noticed this, and gave her an odd glance.  
  
"Cath, do you want me to get a nurse?"  
  
"I'm fine," she gritted through her teeth, accidentally biting her lip in the process, the blood salty and wet against her dry lips.  
  
"You told them not to give you anything, didn't you?"  
  
"Would you want something, if you were in my condition!?" She snapped, and then recoiled at her own ferocity, shrinking into her pillow. "I'm sorry. They kept upping the dosage...and... It brings back those memories, you know. I didn't do ecstasy...but I did so many other things, and when I was getting out of them...all I could feel was that sensation that my brain wanted to break out of my skull. It's that familiar pain- and it's back again. I never thought I'd feel this way again."  
  
  
  
"It's almost over," Grissom replied, wrapping her fingers in his own, gently stroking the back of her hand. "The nurses say that it's almost out of your system. Another twenty-four hours, and you should be back to normal."  
  
  
  
"Normal. That's relative." She sighed. "And when I am- I don't suppose I'll still have a job. If the Sheriff has anything to say about it, I'm sure I'll be hugging a pole at the French Palace before the month is out."  
  
"That's not going to happen, Cath."  
  
"How can you be so sure? I mean really, Gil, look at me," she held up her hand as far as it would go, her fingers shaking violently. "I can't even hold my own damn hand still. Who's to say this will go away? It doesn't always go away...God, I feel like I'm boiling in my own skin."   
  
"Cath it won't..."  
  
"Burning up one second, freezing the next," she continued as if unaware of the hand that was clasping hers. "I can't take it, Fucking hell it's hot." Her mumbling continued; her mind unable, it seemed, to be able to wrap itself around any other concept.  
  
"Mr .Grissom?" He tore his eyes away from Catherine's fast-moving lips, nodding to a nurse who stood just within the doorway, a slip of paper in her hand. "You've got a message- from a Warrick Brown."  
  
  
  
"Yes, thank you." He followed her into the hallway, pulling out his cell and dialing Warrick's number. "Warrick?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, boss. Brass is bringing in a suspect- I thought you might want to be here."  
  
  
  
"You're right, Warrick. Thanks for the head's up." He did want to be there- did want to be across the table from the person who could possibly be responsible for putting Catherine in restraints, through withdrawals she'd never wanted to experience again. He had to be there...for that.  
  
TBC. 


	6. Orders from Above

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
A/N: Here's chapter six for you all. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far. The feedback really fuels our desire to write other things for you all. It also makes writing things for classes all that much easier, but that's another story. Here's to one day printing this out and waving it at my English professor.  
  
Chapter 6: Orders from Above  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The suspects name was Thomas Gribbs, and at first glance, the young man sitting across from Warrick hardly looked the part of someone trying to off a CSI. In fact, with his bright blue eyes partially concealed by the shaggy blonde hair hanging in front of his face, he looked more the part of surfer, out of place in the dry Nevadan desert. He seemed too young, too innocent to be capable of committing a crime.  
  
But here he was, right in front of Grissom's eyes.  
  
For a moment Grissom was struck by the last name, his thoughts flying to the first day he'd met another Gribbs- Holly, not related to this suspect at all, but taken out at the hand of a young punk refusing to submit to the law and leave well enough alone. The thought sobered the man further, as he realized that if this were their man, he would have been responsible for the death of another one of his CSI's, had they not apprehended him.  
  
  
  
Funny, how that worked.   
  
The two-way mirror separating the interrogation room from the observation area prevented him from actually questioning the suspect, but Grissom found himself studying the face carefully, looking for any signs of possible guilt, remorse...anything indicating he may have done the deed responsible for Catherine's incarceration in the hospital. But he saw nothing- and hoped that once Brass and Warrick began questioning, something would emerge.  
  
The young, lanky CSI began first, eyeing the suspect up and down, Brass on his tail. The contrast was always amusing to Grissom- Warrick seeming more likely to be capable of taking out a suspect than the shorter; suit-and-tie clad Jim Brass. But the balance between generations made them an interesting interrogation team, and Grissom leaned closer to the glass, prepared to catch every word between the three men.  
  
  
  
"Thomas Gribbs." Brass slipped into an uncomfortable metal chair at the shiny table, while Warrick chose to lean casually back in his chair, watching silently.   
  
  
  
"Yeah. I need a lawyer?" Gribbs was calm, pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket and popping it languidly between his teeth, gnawing slowly upon the thin wood.   
  
  
  
"Now, why would you ask that?"  
  
  
  
"You're a cop. Everyone knows you need a lawyer when a cop brings you in for questions." It was clear this man based all of his facts on 'cop shows', and Brass suppressed a chuckle at the offered knowledge. "So do I need a lawyer?"  
  
"Depends, do you sell ecstasy?" Brass asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"What's it to you?"  
  
"Nope, you're not talking...I think you'll do just fine without a lawyer."  
  
"What he's asking, bro- is whether or not you've been dealing. It's a yes or no question." Warrick reached into his pocket and withdrew the pill bottle retrieved from Catherine's apartment, tossing the baggie in which it was ensconced across the table to land before their suspect. "We've got your prints on this bottle- and we know you work in this pharmacy. There are also traces of ecstasy on the inside."  
  
  
  
"Hell, no. I've been clean for a year- check with my caseworker. Drug rehab- I get regular piss-exams every week, 'yo, and I've been cleared. Want a sample?"  
  
  
  
"No, that'll be fine." Brass scribbled onto his notepad what Grissom assumed to be a note of checking with the caseworker, and reached to take the pill bottle away. "Can you tell us any reason why this bottle has ecstasy in it, if you weren't using, and yet somehow you're the one who filled this prescription?"  
  
"Who said I filled it? I logged inventory on those bottles, of course my prints are going to be on the bottle. Anybody could have filled that prescription."   
  
"Your supervisor can confirm that?"  
  
"Hell yea he can."  
  
"Can he also confirm that he knew about your past history of drug use, because I find it interesting that anyone would hire a former druggie to work in a pharmacy," Brass smirked. "How bout you Warrick, you find it kind of funny?"  
  
"It's a laugh riot, Brass."  
  
"Hey- these guys don't judge their workers on drug use." Gribbs crossed his arms and regarded the two with narrowed eyes. "My boss keeps in touch with my rehab worker...they know every fucking piece of medicine that passes through my hands."   
  
  
  
"And they can sign an avadavat to that effect."  
  
  
  
"I told you that, sure."   
  
  
  
"Great. We'll want a look at your workstation, too." Brass made another scribble upon the pad, and nodded briskly. "You can go, Mr. Gribbs. Thank you for your time."  
  
  
  
Gribbs said nothing; merely rose and headed out the door the second Warrick opened it.  
  
"He was cooperative," grumbled Warrick as he headed out the door.  
  
"Makes you a little wary of who's filling your prescription, if guys like that are able to get a job."   
  
"I hear ya." The pair walked half-heartedly out the door of the interrogation room, displease that their only lead had gone cold. "What do we do now? We chased the prescription bottle angle as far as it's gonna go...we've got nothing left."  
  
"That's where you're wrong," Grissom quipped, joining them as they made their way out into the hall. "You heard what he said, any number of people there could have filled that prescription. We need to talk to the rest of the employees...maybe one of them had some kind of grievance with Catherine, maybe they're tied to one of her cases...there has to be something that we aren't seeing."  
  
"Well, I'll get the warrant from Judge Scouten- he owes me a favor." Brass veered toward the exit to the parking lot, calling over his shoulder to the two CSI's. "Meet you at the pharmacy."  
  
  
  
"Warrick- bring the car around." Grissom himself veered away once they hit the next turn, heading for the computer room where he knew Sara Sidle would be hovering over a glowing screen. And she was, staring blankly at a diagram of Catherine's home, scanning in pictures of the discoveries she and Nick had made during their visit.  
  
  
  
"Sara?" The fatigued Sidle jolted, spilling a Styrofoam cup of coffee over the front of her lab coat as she swept it off the desk with her elbow, turning at the sound of Grissom's voice. "Sorry."  
  
  
  
"Jesus, Grissom." She swiped at the running liquid, a brown stain already widening on her clothing, and sighed. "What?"  
  
  
  
"I need you to get a list of employees currently employed at Garfield Pharmaceuticals...and cross-reference it with Catherine's past caseload. Anything Catherine worked on...no matter how insignificant."  
  
  
  
"Everything?"  
  
"Everything, no matter how minor. Every homicide, break-in, false alarm, hell check for cats up trees...just get it done, Sara."  
  
"Sure. Just don't keep sneaking up on me like that," she replied, turning back to the computer screen.  
  
"Mmmk."   
  
"Grissom, are you listening to me?"  
  
But he was already gone, and with another deep sigh, Sara turned back to her computer screen, dutifully clicking the mouse button to bring up the interoffice search engine. "Catherine Willows...cases from..."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Brass met Grissom and Warrick in the lobby of the Henderson branch of Garfield Pharmacy, waving the warrant like a holy grail.   
  
  
  
"Judge Scouten gave it up without a nudge- says Catherine's a friend...and apparently I'm not the only one he owes a favor to." He didn't offer more, and neither Warrick nor Grissom asked, as the trio wove their way through aisles of knee braces and plastic toilets to arrive at the pharmacy counter, Brass in the lead.  
  
  
  
"We've got a warrant to see your workstations." He spoke to a young, buxom brunette, whose bored expression mirrored the blasé color of beige in which the entire department was lavishly painted.  
  
"Conrad," the man said, sticking his hand out to greet the three. "Come on, I've been expecting you."  
  
Opening the door that separated the pharmacy from the rest of the store, Mr. Conrad allowed the three to pass through, before shutting it once again.   
  
"The storeroom's back here. This is where everything is inventoried, stocked according to the number you see here on the box." He pointed toward a four-digit code in the upper right hand corner of one of the many boxes.  
  
"We're going to need to take a look at these, make sure nothing else has been tampered with, if that's alright with you, Mr. Conrad," Brass asked politely.  
  
"Sure. Sure. Go right ahead."  
  
Warrick placed his kit upon the floor as Brass stood guard beside the co-operative pharmacist, eyeing the man as if he were a flight risk they hadn't foreseen.   
  
  
  
"We're going to need to know when a prescription was first filled, Mr. Conrad...and who was in charge of that and every refill since that period." Warrick turned to the man, wary of Brass's paranoia. "If you could get us that information..."  
  
  
  
"Of course." Conrad vanished into a corner, where a cubicle sheltered a small computer workstation, and Warrick's eyes turned to Brass.   
  
  
  
"So what is it you wanted to find, Brown?"  
  
  
  
"Grissom told me he spoke to the pharmacist earlier- that every box is listed according to birth date, so you're gonna have to tell me when Cath's birthday is."  
  
  
  
"And what makes you think I know?" The short detective was a dead end, although Warrick hadn't suspected it, and with a sigh he turned to exit the room. "I'll go find Grissom, he can tell us."  
  
  
  
"There's no need." The sound of Grissom's voice turned their heads, and he stepped into the room, heading for an aisle and pulling down a box, the label of which neither Brass nor Warrick was able to read. "Everything about her prescription should be in here."   
  
"Where were you?"  
  
"Out front-talking to one of the workers."  
  
"You, were interviewing one of the employees?" Brass eyed Grissom curiously, wondering what brought on the shift in attitude of his friend. "You usually avoid human interaction at all costs-I'm impressed."  
  
"By what? It was a simple conversation, nothing more. What's so surprising about that?" Grissom snapped angrily, seeing no point in the current conversation. "It was certainly more helpful than this conversation."  
  
"Whatever Gris, it was just odd, is all. No need to bite my head off."  
  
"Then don't ask useless questions." There was no more talk from Grissom, as he donned a pair of gloves and began to delve into the contents of the box, withdrawing file folders of records before unearthing Catherine's own. "Catherine's prescription...was filled for the first time on February 20th, 2003."  
  
  
  
"That's not that long ago." Warrick observed, and as Grissom laid the open file upon a table, Mr. Conrad chose that moment to make an appearance once again.   
  
  
  
"Exactly thirty-three days, to be exact, Mr. Brown. My records state that Catherine Willow's prescription was filled approximately five times between that date and present. She had authorization for three, according to our original file."  
  
  
  
"Three? How'd she manage to-" Warrick stopped short at the distressed look in Grissom's eyes, and averted his question hurriedly. "Do you have the name of the employees that filled those five prescriptions?"  
  
"Not off of the top of my head-but I can find out, if you'll give me a few minutes. We should have a record of them on file here."  
  
"That would be a great help Mr. Conrad."  
  
Gil watched as the owner moved over to one of the computers and sat down in front of it. Immediately a list of name shot onto the screen. "Let me just cross-reference her information with our database here, and see what comes up."  
  
"Thank you, Sir. We appreciate your assistance." A shrill ring cut through the pharmacy, and with a grimace of apology to Grissom, Brass strode out of the area with cell phone in hand. Warrick and Grissom remained standing behind Conrad as his strangely nimble fingers flew over the keyboard, and in a moment a printout emerged from a nearby laser printer.   
  
  
  
"Here you have it, Mr. Grissom." Grissom took the list in hand, and nodded, while Warrick thanked the pharmacist. "Anything I can do to help the Las Vegas police," the man added with a smile. Warrick shook the man's hand and he and Grissom turned to head back out the door.  
  
"Hey Gris, can I talk to you for a sec." Brass pulled him aside as they exited, and Grissom waved Warrick on, signaling that he would meet him back at the Tahoe.  
  
"What do you need, Jim?"  
  
"I've just received a call from our friendly sheriff." At those words, Grissom's expression tightened severely; he never liked calls from the sheriff. "He wants you to take care of Catherine."  
  
  
  
It was suddenly very cold, standing in the aisles between the Icy Hot patches and Nicotine gum. Grissom sighed, gesturing for Warrick, who was heading towards them, to head back to the car, while edging Brass out of the center of the aisle.  
  
  
  
"What do you mean 'Take care of Catherine', Jim?"  
  
"He wants her fired, Gil. Apparently his mother is in the same hospital for an appendectomy, and he caught wind of a Ms. Willows in room 419, scheduled for drug therapy. Didn't take him long to put two-and-two together."  
  
  
  
"If there's one thing Mobley's good at, it's putting heads on the chopping block."  
  
"And this time, he's intent on it being Catherine's." Brass stuffed his hands into his suit pockets and walked off towards his state issued vehicle without another word. Grissom suppressed the urge to go after him and demand more answers. More answers that he knew Brass probably didn't have.   
  
'Don't shoot the messenger," he thought to himself. He'd taken on Mobley before, and won, he could do it again. He had too.  
  
Catherine's job depended on it. Not only that-but her reputation, her life did.  
  
TBC. 


	7. Decisions

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
A/N: Hey - it's week 7!  
  
Chapter 7: Decisions  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"What was that all about?" Warrick didn't request any answers until they'd arrived back at the lab, heading down the corridor toward the computer lab, where they could present Sara with their list, to cross-reference with her own findings. "You and Brass back there-"  
  
  
  
"It was nothing, Warrick. Find Sara and get started on those names- I'll be in my office." It was the only place he could think, and Grissom found that all he needed to do now was just that. Fortify himself for the battle of wits with Brian Mobley. He'd go to the mattresses, if it had to come to that.  
  
  
  
"Sure."  
  
Grissom broke away from Warrick and went into his office-shutting the door and locking it. The last thing he needed was for Greg, or someone else to wander in unexpectedly. Slouching down onto his couch, Grissom kicked his feet up and began to slowly massage his temples. He needed Bach...or Tchaikovsky right now, something soothing, to clear his head. Help him think.   
  
Funny the only thing that could clear his thoughts better than the soft sounds of classical music, was Catherine, and he didn't have her right now either.   
  
"You think you don't have me, hm?" The sound of her voice brought him to a sitting position, and he glanced around, seeing her sitting on the edge of the desk, looking pleased. "You always have. After all, who got me into this field in the first place?"  
  
  
  
"It takes two to tango, Catherine." He didn't move, but she did, coming to sit beside him on the tough, leather sofa. "And you made it here without my help."  
  
  
  
"Ah, but you were the one who encouraged me." She leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "And if you think you're getting rid of me that easily, Gil Grissom, then you're wrong. Go head-to-head with Mobley- you're good at that. But remember that you can't sacrifice both of our careers...it won't do you any good."  
  
  
  
"I'm not letting him fire you."  
  
  
  
"Then don't. And Gil?" Her smile was coy, sweet, and clever as she leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, tip of her nose touching his. "Remember who taught you what it means to go to the mattresses. If it hadn't been for me- you may never have watched 'The Godfather'."  
  
  
  
"Yes, I-" He opened his eyes, sitting up in the dim light of his silent office. His empty office, as he realized that, like Catherine earlier, he had been hallucinating. She was still in the hospital, still under restraints and fighting the assailant that none of them could find.  
  
  
  
And he knew that he still had her.  
  
Getting up and stretching, he felt a renewed spirit in him. The world was not lost, the fight wasn't as hopeless as it had seemed but an hour or so ago. Striding over to the phone on his desk, he picked it up and dialed. Two rings later he heard the gruff, commanding voice of the Sheriff on the other end.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mobley, its Gil Grissom...go to hell, I'm not firing her." And he slammed the phone back into its cradle, creating a resounding boom, for added effect.   
  
And that was that.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Hey." Sara tore her eyes away from the computer screen as Warrick walked in, brandishing his own sheet of crisp computer paper.  
  
"Hey," She'd begun to morph into something closely resembling a vegetable, crumpled Styrofoam cups scattered around the desk area "You've got that list?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, names and phone numbers." Warrick leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the piles of litter with a raised eyebrow. "Gonna check up on some of the employees, want to come?"  
  
  
  
"Uh...yeah." Rubbing her eyes, Sara rose, pulling a crisp sheet out of her own printer. "I've got a list of my own- all of Catherine's cases in the past few months. I can go over it in the car- see if there's anything that matches any of the names on your list."  
  
"Cool-let's go then."  
  
"Fine by me," she smiled, grabbing her coat eagerly off of the back of her chair. After spending nearly an hour glued to her computer, her tired eyes were grateful for the reprieve. "Where we headed to first?"  
  
"A Mr. Alexander Petty-says here that he filled the first prescription. February 20th, just like Conrad told us back at the pharmacy."  
  
"But he didn't fill the other three?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"So who filled the other three prescriptions?"  
  
"Let's hope Mr. Petty can tell us that."   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
  
"So, Mr. Petty- you left the pharmacy in March?" Sara opened the questioning once the two CSI's were allowed into the neat duplex where Alexander Petty- a forty-three year old white male- resided, in Henderson. They'd been offered tea and coffee several times- Warrick subtly covering Sara's empty teacup when coffee was brought in--and had finally managed to warm the man enough to ask their questions. "Can you tell us why you left?"  
  
  
  
"I wasn't happy in my position." Petty sat on a low, overstuffed white sofa, while Warrick and Sara perched on wing-backed chairs. "Mr. Conrad and I didn't see eye-to-eye."  
  
  
  
"What do you mean by that?"   
  
  
  
"He was hitting on me, if you must know." Crossing his legs, Petty seemed agitated, gesturing to a gilt-framed photo on a table nearby. "Andrew and I have been together for nearly two years- and Conrad knew that. But he insisted I'd have more fun. It didn't make the workplace very friendly, Miss Sidle."  
  
"I see," Sara trailed off, as she scribbled this down in her notes.  
  
"I'm sure you understand what I mean, Miss Sidle...as a woman I'm sure you've experienced something similar in your own work place, at one time or another."  
  
"Um, no...I haven't, Mr. Petty."  
  
"Ah well," he shrugged nervously, "good for you."  
  
Sara sent a helpless glance Warrick's direction, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.  
  
"It also says here, Mr. Petty, that you filled a prescription for Prozac, on February 20th. For a Ms. Catherine Willows, is that true?"  
  
"Blonde, leggy, smart dresser?"  
  
Sara and Warrick didn't speak, the expressions on their faces doing all of the talking for them.  
  
"Just because I play for the other team," Mr. Petty replied with a grin, "doesn't mean I don't notice those kinds of things...but yes, I filled that. Ms. Willows was a frequent customer, got most of her medication there."  
  
"And you only filled the first prescription, Mr. Petty?"  
  
"Yes. But I did come in to clean out my desk on the day Ms. Willows came back for a refill. I recall as much-- because I'd given her enough to last several weeks...and she returned long before that. Of course...there could have been any number of reasons why-"  
  
  
  
"Do you remember what day that was, Sir?"  
  
  
  
"Yes- it was March 5th. I remember it like it was yesterday, Mr. Brown...it was the day Andrew and I..." The middle-aged man blushed, and Sara's eyebrow arched as she and Warrick exchanged glances. "At any rate- there was a new boy in that day...brown hair, 5'7"...I believe his name was Reggie."  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Petty."  
  
At that, Sara and Warrick stood up and exited the house, shutting the door quietly as they stepped into the dry Vegas evening. The walk to the car was silent, neither speaking until they were securely buckled in and had begun pulling out of the driveway.  
  
"Who'd name their child Reggie?" Sara asked suddenly, out of the blue.  
  
"There are worse names, Sara."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well..." Warrick stopped for a moment, and thought. "Francis, for one."  
  
"What does the name Francis have to do with anything?" His passenger winced as Warrick neatly, yet narrowly, avoided a UPS truck on the 4 lane Vegas highway.  
  
  
  
"It was supposed to be my name," Warrick replied, and swerved again to pass a station wagon with dangling Maine plates. "But my mom vetoed that idea- said it was my Pop's mother's name. She wanted her son to be a man."  
  
  
  
"Well, if that's what you are, then it worked." Sara grinned, and Warrick yanked on the wheel to pull them close to the guardrail, causing her to tighten her grip upon the door handle. "Warrick."  
  
  
  
"Don't mess with the man, Sara."  
  
"The man, is going to get us killed."  
  
"No faith, I've been driving in Vegas my whole life. Never even gotten a ticket...I know these streets better than you know your parents. Where's the faith in my driving skills, Sara?"  
  
"About five miles back Warrick, with my stomach."  
  
"Ha, ha."  
  
  
  
"So glad you think, me losing my lunch all over this car is so hilarious," Sara folded her arms across her chest, and kept her eyes on the road in front of her.  
  
"You wouldn't-"  
  
"And I would make you clean it up, man."  
  
"Oh, harsh, Sara, harsh," Warrick took one hand off of the wheel, placing over his chest as if he'd been vitally wounded.  
  
"Well, I try to live up to my reputation." She laughed, leaning for the radio knob and flicking it on. "Hey...Warrick?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
  
  
"I suppose only a real homie listens to classical opera?" Her mouth clamped shut as her co-worker changed stations and lanes simultaneously, and not another word was uttered for the remainder of the drive.  
  
TBC. 


	8. A Rat Among Us

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
Chapter 8: A Rat Among Us  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"How is she?" Grissom hadn't bothered to return to Catherine's hospital room, pausing at the nurse's desk only for the usual check on her status. He was known far too well, to his taste, and without a word he fielded a wave from the patrolling orderly. "Any improvements?"  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom...but we have orders not to release any information to you at this time..." The young nurse seemed hedgy at best, her nametag concealed behind lengths of mousy brown hair.   
  
  
  
"Orders from whom?"  
  
  
  
"A...Conrad Ecklie, sir. He's informed us that he is investigating the condition of Ms.  
  
Willows, and, that we are not to allow you within her room, Sir."  
  
  
  
That was the third sir in five minutes, and Grissom's eyebrow mounted his higher forehead within seconds.  
  
"Conrad Ecklie had no right to be here in the first place, let alone start investigating the condition of Ms. Willows, as you put it. He doesn't have the authority to tell me what I can and cannot do. So if you'll excuse me, I'll go in and look for myself."  
  
"I can't allow you to do that, Sir."  
  
"Nurse Tiner, you know me," he replied finally getting a good look at her nametag. "I've been here before, there's no need to call me Sir. And with all due respect, there's no way in hell you're going to stop me." Grissom's voice was calm and steady, not allowing his spite for Conrad Ecklie to seep through into his words.  
  
"He said his orders came from the sheriff...Grissom, I can't let you go in there."  
  
"Let me go in!" The outburst wasn't expected- least of all from Grissom himself, whose hands lashed out as he pushed roughly past the officer and turned the knob, breaking into the cool interior of Catherine's darkened room. He heard the sounds behind him, voices calling for Ecklie...the sheriff...but he didn't care, as he came screeching to a halt on the white linoleum.  
  
"Gil." The rattlesnake is not prone to attack unless provoked, and Grissom could have sworn he'd heard a rattle from within the auburn headed sheriff as the collected man rose. "We were just talking about you."  
  
  
  
Catherine's eyes turned in his direction, her lips remaining together as steady, watery blue eyes quietly observed him. He didn't like it, finding that stare as unnerving as that which came from within the steely eyes of the town sheriff.  
  
"Mobley." Grissom practically hissed out the words.  
  
"I take it you're not happy to see me?"  
  
"Oh it's always an eventful day when I get to have a chat with you, Brian. But today...today I think this is a record. Twice you've graced me with your presence. I feel honored."  
  
"I'd hardly call our last little chat an encounter, would you? If I remember, I barely got a word in edge wise before you hung up. You might want to consider who signs your paychecks, before you tell me 'go to hell', again."  
  
  
  
"Brian- could I speak with you in the hallway?" He didn't want it to get ugly so soon...not in front of the object of their latest argument. Her eyes were wide...so blue, so curious...and he forced himself to look away, yet not into the eyes of the devil.   
  
  
  
"No, Gil, we'll get this over with now." Mobley returned to his seat, and Grissom took his own on the opposite side of the bed, reaching instinctively for Catherine's hand. "Ms. Willows...I assume you can understand me?"  
  
  
  
"She's sick, Brian- not deaf. I think she," Withdrawing his hand momentarily, Grissom swiftly signed 'understands you fine' with confident fingers, and Mobley completed his sentence.  
  
"Ms. Willows..." Grissom watched as Mobley started his sentence and then paused, unsure of where to go.  
  
"It's Catherine, Brian. Just Catherine..." anger rose into Grissom's voice as he felt the need to protect Catherine overcome him. "Even you don't have the balls to do it -not here, not like this. You can't even call her by her first name..."  
  
"Gil, why don't you worry about your own job first, before you start worrying about hers. This is none of you business."  
  
"It's my CSI we're talking about here...I'm making it my business."  
  
"Shut up." The faint order came from Catherine, whose eyes darted between the two men, as she parted her lips to speak again. "If you're here to fire me, Brian...just do it. Don't make Grissom carry out your dirty work."  
  
  
  
"Catherine-" Grissom attempted to intervene, but she stopped him, sliding her hand from beneath his and holding it up.   
  
  
  
"Miss Willows...I'm sorry to have to bring you the news while you're here. But the nurses assure me they've got you in the best care possible...and although you'll be released soon... Mr. Ecklie and I don't feel you're setting the best example for CSI in the eye of the public."  
  
"Ecklie's involved?" Grissom was on the edge of his seat now, nails pressed into his palms. "You've consulted him?"  
  
  
  
"Conrad is the chief CSI on this case, Gil."  
  
"Ecklie didn't even know about this case, Brian. My CSI's have been interviewing suspects, collecting evidence; it's from their hard work that there even is a case, and last I heard Conrad Ecklie was not heading night shift. So how exactly did your lovely lapdog inherit 'this case', as you call it?"  
  
"I have my reason, Gil."  
  
"Non-answer, Brian."  
  
"Gil, you've been removed from your position once. I'd hate to have to mark your record by doing it again." Mobley hadn't risen, yet his threat seemed to tower high in the empty room. Before he could rise himself, however, Grissom felt Catherine's hand back on his, and he looked at her, waiting.  
  
  
  
"It's all right, Gil. Let them have it, if that's what they want. It isn't worth your job."  
  
  
  
"I'm not going to let Ecklie ruin this, Catherine. It's too important."  
  
  
  
"No it isn't. Besides," She smiled, fatigue settling upon her face, yet her eyes remained bright and sparkling. "I do have other talents to fall back on, you know."  
  
  
  
"Talents that I don't want you to have to fall back on, Catherine. You've come too far to let a man like Ecklie ruin you."  
  
"I'm not afraid of the likes of Ecklie."  
  
"Neither am I, but let's face it...he's biased, and can throw his weight around. He won't let this go," Gil whispered to her sternly, low enough that Mobley wasn't able to hear.  
  
"Well, it looks like I'm finished here." Mobley abandoned his seat, turning to nod in Catherine's direction, smiling much like a man who was sure he had triumphed. "I'm sorry to have to come to you when you were in this condition, Catherine. I'm sure you understand."  
  
  
  
"I'm sure I do, Brian." She bestowed upon him a smile, much like a woman who knew that he hadn't won anything, and he left, brisk footsteps echoing upon the floor tiles.  
  
"Bastard," Catherine muttered, her words stifled by a deep yawn.  
  
"I should probably go...I just wanted to check up, and see how you were and all...and you look like you need some rest."  
  
"I've been resting since I got here, Gil," she replied softly, flashing him a smile. It was a purely genuine smile and he was glad for it. Happy that he could erase the images of the past days events and replace it with that smile.  
  
"Sure you have..."  
  
"Okay, maybe not the whole time, but most of the time, I swear."  
  
Gil threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay I believe you," he told her, rising from his chair. "And now I really should go. If you need anything, Cath, you know where I am, okay?"  
  
"Hey Gil?"  
  
"Yea Cath?"  
  
"Thanks, for everything...I don't know what I would have done if you weren't around. And I'm sorry," Catherine trailed off for a moment, staring at her hands for a moment. "I'm sorry if I said anything that hurt you...I don't remember all of it...I didn't mean too..."  
  
"I know," Gil cut her off. "No need to apologize."   
  
"Well," She managed another smile as her eyes began to close of their own accord. "I guess I'll have plenty of time to rest when I get out of here, too."  
  
  
  
She was far too exhausted...and he couldn't help but smile himself at the way her head rolled to one side. Like a child...like Lindsey, on the nights he had stopped by and helped to tuck the little girl into bed. Not such a little girl anymore, her mother having fallen into the role as she lay in the hospital, her care in the hands of so many others.   
  
  
  
"Very much a woman, yet still a little girl," He whispered, placing one hand on the doorknob and pushing it open. "Sleep well, Catherine."  
  
~*~*~*~ 


	9. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Blind Revenge  
  
By: Manda and Allison  
  
Chapter 9: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back  
  
+++++  
  
"Any luck with that other employee?" Nick asked, running into Warrick and Sara in the DNA lab.  
  
"None. The kid was 20, and terrified out of his mind about us questioning him. Turns out he's a pharmacy major at UNLV, he's there doing an internship. He just happened to start the day Mr. Petty quit," Sara told him flopping down into the seat next to Nick.  
  
"And that leaves us without a suspect, and right back to where we started," interjected Warrick.  
  
"With Thomas Gribbs fingerprint, on an empty pill bottle."  
  
"PD clear his alibi with his boss, Mr. Conrad?"   
  
"Says he's a model employee...been clean for a year, never late to work, and get this, Conrad watched him log those bottles in," Sara threw her arms across her chest in annoyance. "We've got nothing."  
  
"Maybe not...aren't you two forgetting something?" Warrick and Sara turned to Nick, their eyes peaked with curiosity. "We found more than one bottle at Catherine's house, the one half empty on her table..."  
  
"I see...you think our suspect might have touched the bottle?"  
  
"Exactly." Nick grinned, the excitement at a possible break in the case palpable. "Where's that bottle now?"  
  
  
  
"In my capable hands, compadre." The trio looked up at the entrance of Greg, pulling on his ivory lab coat with a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face.   
  
  
  
"Where've you been, Greg? We could have had that hour ago." Sara leaned against the microscope table, eyes locked on the eager young scientist, but Greg Sanders was not to be thrown by the eagle eyes.   
  
  
  
"Bathroom, Sara. Nature calls, even for us dedicated science geeks."  
  
  
  
"It's called a bedpan, Greg, and I'm sure Doc Robbins would have been happy to lend you one. So where's our bottle? And how the hell did you get it, anyway?"  
  
  
  
"Cool your jets. Jacqui had to leave- her kid broke his femur or something like that...and she handed it off to me, so I could hand it off to you." From within one of the many pockets attached to his coat, Greg withdrew a clear evidence bag containing a dull orange bottle. "Three prints, four partials."  
  
  
  
"Great. Got a printout of those?" Within seconds, a paper was whisked out to accompany the bag, and Sara held it tightly within her fingers.   
  
"Jacqui didn't have time to run them, thought you CSI's could handle it." Greg turned to leave, but got halfway to the door and then stopped. "Oh, and if any of you see Cath, tell her Jacqui says get well, and to remind her that she still owes her a beer...whatever that means."   
  
"I'm sure Catherine knows."  
  
Greg shrugged. "Sure, whatever...just makes sure she gets the message...and while you're at it, tell her she better get her butt back here fast...Grissom's...well let's just say his people skills are better when she's around."  
  
"Will do, Greg." Nick's voice was the only one that chased the science geek through the doorway, and with the silence that followed he turned abruptly. "Guys...what gives? Neither of you are with it."  
  
  
  
"Sorry, Nick." The two exchanged glances, and Sara waved the paper in the air dutifully.   
  
"I'm off to run these prints through AFIS. Warrick- you gonna chase down another suspect?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah- guess I'll run your cross with the pharmacy list- get some faces to go with the rest of these names. Maybe something new will come up. Nick, gonna come with?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah...guess I will."  
  
"Then let's go, man...no use sitting around here."  
  
"I'm coming..." Nick rose dutifully and followed Warrick out the lab door towards the main lobby. As they walked out Nick eyed the secretary from the desk, peeking into Grissom's office. Apparently not finding him she turned around and started back towards her desk.  
  
"Judy, you looking for Grissom?" Nick asked, the elder woman jumping at the sound of his voice.  
  
"Geez Nick, you scared me."  
  
"Sorry," he replied, sending an apologetic smile in her direction.  
  
"No problem, just don't sneak up on me again...you'll give me a heart attack. Yes, I am looking for Grissom, he had an urgent phone message, have you seen him?"  
  
"He's on his way back here, I think..."  
  
"Well, when he gets here...send him to the front desk, okay?"  
  
"Sure thing."   
  
Filing the mental note, Nick hurried to catch up with Warrick, punching the CSI on the arm with a jesting grin. "Hey, man, wait up."  
  
  
  
"What's that about?"  
  
  
  
"Nothing- Judy's got a message for Gris. Haven't seen him today, though, man."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, me neither. Off with Cath, I think." Any other situation with Grissom and Catherine paired off would have filled the air with jokes and innuendo- but not today. Today, Warrick only shook his head with concern, Nick mirroring the act as the two headed off toward the parking lot.  
  
  
  
It wasn't yet shaping up to be a good day.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Meanwhile, Sara had headed off to the print lab, and had set herself in front of a computer once again. Scanning the prints in the machine, she rested her elbows on the desk in front of her, and waited for AFIS to hopefully, kick something out for her.  
  
She watched as the first set of prints came up, and matched to an in-house set...Catherine's. "This is going to be a long day," she muttered to herself, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Clicking on the second set, she watched as the program cycled through the thousands of various possible matches, and wondered how Jacqui could possibly do this all day.  
  
  
  
The next set- Lindsey Willows. Catherine was the trusting kind- would probably send her daughter to the bathroom to get them for her. Cute kid- but Sara never wanted children...and found that Catherine's sometimes drove her crazy.   
  
  
  
The third print came back unknown, which sent Sara's heart racing. One good print...not a partial...usable...and belonging to someone not within the Willow's household.   
  
Hypothesis: She could have their killer in the bag- and Grissom would be pleased.  
  
  
  
She always liked it when Grissom was pleased. Now she just had to match the print to someone inside that pharmacy.  
  
Taking out her cell phone, she dialed the number to Garfield's pharmacy, and waited for someone to pick up.  
  
"Hello, may speak to a Mr. Conrad? Thanks." She smiled to herself as she waited, hoping her print would break the case. "Yes, Mr. Conrad, do you fingerprint your employees? I need to see them if you have them on file somewhere...no, that'd be fine. Thanks."  
  
The fax would come through in fifteen minutes, as soon as Mr. Conrad was able to make his way to the copy store. He'd explained that their fax was broken...that he was willing to drive into Vegas if Sara was willing to wait. But she'd declined, saying it would be fine just to wait, to hear the whirring of the fax churning out the crisp printed sheets. Like any good employer, Conrad kept the files together...and like any good CSI, Sara was certain she could make quick work of them.  
  
  
  
"Sara Sidle?" Her eyes were averted from where they lingered on the fax, now churning out page one of twenty-six, landing on the thin, blue-smocked form of a young, pimply-faced scientist. "I--I'm...Hendricks, from days."  
  
  
  
"Hey, there, Hendricks. You looking for someone?"  
  
  
  
"Y-you, Miss Sidle. Mr. Ecklie sent me...I need those prints when you get them."  
  
  
  
"You do?" Sara's brow furrowed, her face contorting into what Nick always cheeringly referred to as her 'angry gorilla' face. Since the bounty-hunted gorilla incident, she'd become used to the name, associating it with her anger far too often. "It's our case."  
  
  
  
"Not anymore. Your supervisor should-"  
  
  
  
"What the hell." She was on her feet and out the door, leaving pages spitting from the fax into the tray as she sprinted through the semi-populated corridors, grabbing Grissom's doorframe with strong fingers to bring her body to a halt. "Grissom- they're taking our case."  
  
  
  
"I know, Sara...I know. I'm calling everyone in." Grissom seemed tired- too tired- the shadows under his eyes rivaling those of the battered dead. He sunk into his desk chair and tossed his jacket aside...and it only momentarily occurred to Sara that he just returned from Catherine's side. The thought didn't infuriate her as much as Ecklie's gall, and she pushed it aside for later times.  
  
"They can't take this case, this is our case."  
  
"This comes from Mobley, Sara, I tried, but there's nothing I can do."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
"What did you just say?" he asked, arching his eyebrow.  
  
"Bullshit...I said bullshit, Grissom. Catherine's not here to do it, so it might as well be me...you can't give up on this."  
  
"I don't exactly have a choice...I've come close enough to losing my job over this, I don't intend to go any further."  
  
"We're so close to breaking this wide open...hell, if that sniveling worm Hendricks hadn't shown up I could be matching prints right now!"  
  
Grissom sighed and pushed away from his desk, "Sara, wait till everyone else gets here...then we'll figure things out."  
  
"Figure what out?" Came a voice from outside the hall.  
  
The two looked up into the hall, where Greg stood, a manila folder in his tight grasp, looking all the world like a conspirator in a secret society. "Sorry, boss...Sara...I found this in the computer room...thought you left it there."  
  
  
  
"Wasn't Hendricks-"  
  
  
  
"Don't know- saw him taking off down the hall. Think he ate something that didn't agree with him- like that bean burrito he took from Nick's lunch bag in the freezer."   
  
  
  
"Ahh." Sara's hands were scarcely within range of the folder before Grissom's sharp retort brought it to her side once again, and Greg nearly dropped it in surprise.  
  
  
  
"Greg- take that folder back to where you found it."  
  
  
  
"But I thought Sara was-"  
  
  
  
"Now, Greg!" The lab rat wasn't prone to staying around when Grissom spoke in that tone reserved only for Ecklie and difficult suspects...but today he stood his ground, as Sara shot him a look of warning and turned her head in Grissom's direction.   
  
  
  
"Don't push him around, Grissom. Greg- Ecklie's shift has the case, now."  
  
  
  
"That's bullshit."   
  
"Sorry to burst your bubble Greg, but Sara's already informed me of that, twice," Grissom spoke up, before Greg could get another word in. "Now, you two, sit...we'll discuss what to do about this when Nick and Warrick get back."  
  
"Wait no longer, we're here" Warrick's tall lanky form appeared in Grissom's doorway, Nick close behind. "What's up? We were on our way to match up a few of the employees on our list, see who we could rule out etcetera...when you paged."  
  
"Ecklie took our case, that's what's up," Sara huffed, flopping onto Grissom's couch and crossing her arms indignantly.   
  
"Ecklie took our- Gris, how can he do that?" Warrick's exasperation mirrored that of Sara and Greg's, and Nick only stood there, mouth gaping open. "Who-"  
  
  
  
"The sheriff handed over jurisdiction," Grissom explained, lifting a pen from the desk and slipping it repeatedly through his fingers. He'd tired of the story already, tired of explaining over and over again that he'd lost the most vital case on their plate to Conrad Ecklie. "We're supposed to hand over every piece of evidence we have pertaining to Catherine's case."  
  
"We can't-no, we won't, will we?"  
  
"We have too."  
  
"Man, this is messed up," Warrick growled, kicking the edge of the door with his foot. Leave it to Ecklie to play lapdog to the Sheriff, and fuck up their case. Warrick had had about enough of the bald headed day shift supervisor, and looking around that the faces of his coworkers, he was almost positive that he wasn't alone.  
  
"You've got that right." Nick flopped onto the leather couch, Greg following, and glared sullenly up at Billy Bass. "You just know he's gonna do something to fuck up Cath's chances."  
  
  
  
"Actually..." Grissom reached up and massaged his temples, abandoning the pen on the desktop.  
  
  
  
"Actually what?" The trio of young, frustrated investigators turned their heads in his direction, and it was Sara who blurted out the question first. "What happened, Grissom?"  
  
"Nothing, it's nothing."  
  
"Obviously it's something...the vein in your forehead is practically throbbing." Nick pointed out, "We have a right to know, Cath's our friend too. You can't just shut us out and not tell us what's going on."  
  
Grissom was silent for a moment, his eyes gazing sullenly at his team. He didn't want to be the one who had to break more bad news to them, not here not now. All he could do was sit there, and stare...not sure what to tell them.   
  
"He's firing her, isn't he? Mobley's firing Catherine." Warrick moved from his position in the doorway, fully entering the room and locked eyes with Grissom; waiting expectantly for an answer. It was now that he realized what Grissom and Brass had been talking about back at the pharmacy...what Gris had been so unwilling to tell me. Why he was so angry.  
  
"Not firing, Warrick. Fired. I ran into him at the hospital earlier. We had a few words...and Catherine's no longer employed at CSI, yes." He didn't want to have to tell them at all, and by the looks on each of their faces, they hadn't wanted to hear it that way, either. "Look. We can't do anything about this now. I want all of you to gather every piece of evidence you can and bring it to Mobley's office. He can disperse it to dayshift as he sees fit."  
  
He received only garbled mutters in reply as the CSI's stood up and filed out of his office begrudgingly. Only Nick lingered behind the group, stopping momentarily at the door.  
  
"Gris?"  
  
"Yea Nick?"  
  
"I almost forgot-Judy, at the front desk, was looking for you earlier...some kind of important phone message."  
  
"In regards to what, exactly?"  
  
"I don't know," Nick shrugged rather sheepishly, "Just said that it was urgent, and that when I saw you, I should tell you to go talk to her."  
  
"Thanks, Nick."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Grissom didn't reply. Rising out of his chair, he maneuvered past Nick and out into the hallway. The front desk was quiet, with Judy arranging paper clips among neatly ordered stacks of folders when he approached.   
  
  
  
"Judy?"  
  
  
  
"Ah, Mr. Grissom- this message came in for you about an hour ago...it's from the Desert Palms hospital? They said it was urgent..." Grissom's hand had already snatched the rustling pink slip from her fingertips and his eyes drank in the few hastily scrawled words, printing out a message he'd never wanted to hear. Spinning around, he sprinted back toward his office, brushing into a perplexed Nick, who trailed after him.   
  
  
  
"Boss? What's going on?"  
  
  
  
"Nick- get Sara and Warrick- now." His fingers closed around the handle of a field kit, while his other hand took up the smooth leather jacket he'd abandoned on the couch. Catherine loved that jacket- would always tell him that she couldn't associate that smell with anyone other than him. "As of two hours ago- we're back at the hospital!"  
  
TBC. 


	10. Wrestling With the Shark

Blind Revenge  
By: Manda and Allison

A/N: For those of you who've waited so long for this chapter. Thanks to the loyal fans, and to Angie, our wonderful beta.  
  
Chapter 10: Wrestling with the Shark

* * *

"Goddamn it, Conrad!" The head of Graveshift massaged his temples irritably with his right hand, halted at the nurses' station on Catherine's floor by his shifty-eyed counterpart, Conrad Ecklie. "When are you going to get it?"  
  
"This isn't a matter of who's learning what, Gil- we're the case CSI's on this. Trust me- we're doing everything we can for Catherine."  
  
"If you gave a rat's ass-" Nick was cut off by Grissom's sharp glare, and he retreated to stand by Sara.   
  
"Look, Conrad- if any of my CSI's were allowed visitation, the odds are that someone would have been here when this went down."  
  
"And the odds are just as good that they wouldn't have, Gil. Someone was determined to eliminate Catherine...and what makes you think your presence would have mattered?"  
  
"At least let us know what's going on." Warrick was the calmest of the assembled nightshift, speaking rationally when he knew Grissom didn't want to. "Where's Catherine now?"  
  
"The doctors have her in the ER- they're pumping her stomach. Her attacker tried to give her an overdose...but we haven't determined what the drugs were as of yet." At that note, one of his men called from the doorway to Catherine's room, and Ecklie turned to stride briskly toward him, calling over his shoulder. "Get your people out of here, Gil!"  
  
"That bastard." While Sara's opinion of Catherine had never skyrocketed past that of 'minor friend and valued colleague', she'd never become fond of Ecklie in any manner, and her expressive brown eyes bore daggers into his retreating back. "What do we do now?"  
  
"Nothing." Grissom didn't wear defeat well, and his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of it. "Get back to the lab, guys. I'll get a ride back in a few hours."  
  
"What are you gonna do in the meantime, boss?" Warrick lingered as Sara and Nick headed for the elevator, the concern evident by the deep furrows etched into his brow.   
  
"Wait." Grissom's eyes met Warrick's stare, his blue orbs solemn. "Catherine's going to need someone here when she comes out."  
  
"What about Lindsey? You want me to-"  
  
"Bring a ten year old into this, Warrick? No- Lindsey's staying with Catherine's sister. Leave her there for now, and bring her when Catherine's more improved."  
  
"Sure." Warrick at least retreated, and Grissom remained by the nurses' station, eyes still locked on every move that was made by Ecklie's crew. He remained that way for the next hour...and was asleep against the counter when Catherine Willows was at last returned to her room.  
  
"Mr. Grissom?" Grissom felt someone tapping him on the shoulder, and immediately woke with a start.   
  
"What? Is there news?"  
  
"They're taking her back to her room...if you want to find out how she is...the doctor should be in there."  
  
"Thank you," he smiled appreciatively before heading off in the direction of Catherine's room. To his surprise, he found neither Ecklie, nor Mobley anywhere to be found. Silently, he thanked god for that, and then pushed through the doors, and into her room.  
  
She was asleep, under the eyes of her steadfast Doctor, whose white coat was wrinkled, bags evident beneath his eyes as he turned to face the new visitor.   
  
"Gil Grissom- I'm a colleague." Grissom's eyes also swung over Catherine's slumbering body, her chest rising and falling gently beneath the fresh, cerulean blanket. "How is she?"  
  
"Tired, I'd imagine. Sore for a while- we had to pump her stomach." The physician crossed his arms and shook his head. "She's going to be out for a while, Mr. Grissom."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Someone got in here- disguised as a nurse, is our guess- and attempted to force-feed Miss Willows a few more pills than are on her daily dosage. One of our night nurses stopped in to see if she needed the bedpan and caught the impersonator on his or her way out."  
  
"We'll see about getting some guards posted at the door. In the meantime, there shouldn't be anyone coming in here, unless it's absolutely urgent. This person will come back again, and this time Catherine might not be so lucky."  
  
"I'll oversee everything personally, Mr. Grissom."  
  
"And Dr...um...Jackson?" Gil squinted at the man's nametag.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"If you happen to see sheriff Mobley around here...tell him Gil Grissom needs to speak with him, and that it's urgent."  
  
"Will do."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Dr. Jackson left at the sound of a beep from his pager, and Grissom approached Catherine's bedside, wary of the few pieces of equipment arranged nearby. She was angelic, hair tossed about her head, moist pieces clinging to her forehead. Similar to the day she'd given birth, when he'd come to see her in the maternity ward, and her face glowed with the effort, her hair escaping its pins and tumbling over her shoulders. The only good time she'd ever been sequestered within a hospital bed.  
  
Grissom saw very little to indicate that Ecklie's crew had ever been present in the room, his eyes instinctively sweeping over every edifice, every piece of equipment or surface area. They were good- he'd give them that. Nothing remained, and he bent to tighten the laces of his shoe before saying goodnight to Catherine.  
  
There was something lodged beneath the wheel of her bed. A scrap of paper, barely detectable, and he yanked a glove from his pocket in order to retrieve it. Picking it up, he looked it over. It was a plain white sheet, nothing entirely special about it, and on it was, Grissom realized after a few moments, Catherine's room number.  
  
Whoever was doing this, had been watching them. Had seen either himself or someone else enter the room. And if that was true, then there was a possibility they could still be there-in the hospital.  
  
"Officer?" He was in the hallway within seconds, the paper pinched between the glove in his hand. The uniformed man at the end of the hall turned, hand reflexively at his hip as Grissom strode toward the nurses station. "Close off this floor- secure all the exits ."

"Sir, we can't-" But Grissom had already pulled out his cell with his free hand, flipping it open to strike the speed dial. "Sara, I want you and Nick over here- Catherine's hospital room needs another going over. No- I don't care if Ecklie's roaming the halls chopping off heads- I want you here now."

* * *

"Hey Grissom!"   
  
Gil looked up from what he was doing to see Warrick waving at him from down the hall; Nick and Sara following closely behind.  
  
"What's up, I thought this was Ecklie's case," Warrick asked as he approached, putting more emphasis on the no good day shift supervisors name than Grissom cared for.  
  
"I think our suspect's still here, that's what's up."  
  
"And there's no time to alert Ecklie. Right." Sara leapt to business, striding past the gang toward Catherine's room. "I've got pictures."  
  
"Hey, wait up! You know how Cath hates pictu-" Nick's voice faded away as Warrick and Grissom were left in the hallway, two men without words, yet speaking volumes to one another. And after a moment, Warrick opened his mouth, eyes moving from Grissom to the elevator and back again.  
  
"What's the situation, Gris?"  
  
'It'll be okay, but she's just out of the ER and she's weak...we're going to have to treat this case like a china shop- no hotheads. Keep it impersonal, as we have been...and we'll make it over this hurdle like we have every other."  
  
"Sure, Gris...sure," Warrick replied as he walked away, slamming his fist against the door to Catherine's room as he went in.  
  
In any other situation, Gil might have thrown him off the case for that-for getting to emotional, but today...today he was just acting out what the rest of them felt. And somehow, Grissom couldn't see harm in it.  
  
He needed to get the case back, feeling the control of the situation slipping through his fingers like water through a sieve. There wasn't anything he could visibly do to stop it- and he didn't enjoy the feeling. To wrestle a case from Conrad Ecklie was to wrestle a severed arm from a vicious shark...it took cunning and strategy to work around the higher powers.  
  
The vast amount of officers combing the building had grown in the few hours Grissom had been present, wandering between the newly dubbed crime scene and the hallway, which remained void of all except uniformed officers and the occasional passing nurse. His thoughts were rifling through the past few days, procedures and the time he'd spent by Catherine's bedside instead of at the lab, trying to uncover the mystery further.  
  
"Hey, boss?" It was Nick who brought him out of his reverie, the soft Texan accent breaking away the cobwebs of guilt shrouding his thoughts. "Officer Eldis found some guy trying to sneak out the fire escape in the men's room...thought you'd want to have a talk with him."  
  
"Officer..."  
  
"Eldis. Bit of a prick, Gris- but this guy's good. Said he had to wrestle the perp out of the window, took a kick to the face. He's got the dude in the waiting room down the hall."  
  
"Are you done re-processing that hospital room?" Grissom asked, arching his eyebrow.  
  
"Warrick and Sara are just finishing up," Nick stooped down and set his kit on the hard linoleum floor. Opening it up, he set the evidence he'd bagged and tagged inside and shut it once more.  
  
"Well then, you and I need to see a man about a fire escape."  
  
TBC. 


End file.
